Among the Smiling Faces
by audi katia
Summary: He's admired her for years. She's never noticed, but that's all about to change. In the end, everyone has to make a choice. ::C/U/S triangle::
1. Prologue

_Canon? What canon? It's fanfiction and I can write what I want. :) Anyway, this is co-written with **St. Valentine**. Go read her stories. She writes Chekov better than anyone._

_This prologue takes place about two years before the movie, but the rest of the story occurs after movie-verse._

_**Disclaimer**: No copyright infringement intended. I promise, I get nothing from this except a whole lot of fun._

* * *

"What's two plus two, huh, freak?" The much larger cadet yelled mockingly, pushing Chekov backwards into the burly arms of the cadet's friend.

Chekov would have come up with a witty answer about how while he certainly knows the answer, he wonders if they're only asking because they don't know themselves. But as it was, he was currently doubled over, recovering from the fist that had just lodged itself in his stomach.

"Fo-ngh," he sputtered out, tasting coppery blood at the corners of his mouth. The burly arms around him tightened before spinning him around so quickly, Chekov felt his neck crick unpleasantly.

"Can't even speak English, can you?" The second cadet leered, fisting one shovel-like hand into Chekov's curls. Chekov felt several hairs part company from his scalp as the cadet pulled harder.

"So let's see if we can't make up a mathematical equation since you seem to like them so much," the first cadet loomed closer to Chekov's face until he could see all too clearly the cruel joy in the older student's eyes.

"There's twice as many of us as there are of you. And our strength is probably about ten times more than yours. If my fist is coming at your face at the speed of light, what's the probability of you ending up in Sick Bay?"

Underneath the many layers of terror, Chekov watched in slow motion as the cadet pulled his fist back. He clenched his eyes tightly as his quick mind quickly rambled a Russian prayer to any god above to protect whichever bone was about to be smashed.

"Hey! You put him down right now!"

Not daring to open his eyes, Chekov felt the burly cadet loosen his grip. The expected punch never landed on his body, and he was thrown unceremoniously to the cold hard floor beneath him. Gasping for breath, he balanced himself on all fours, finally looking up to find out who was his savior.

Maybe it was the blinding pain talking, but she had to have been an angel. God must have answered his rapid prayer. His bruised jaw fell slack as his swollen eyes took in her flowing white dress with a halo illuminated above her head with florescent lights. Yes, she was an angel. That was the only plausible answer.

His pounding head couldn't make out all the surely angry words she was spitting out to his two torturous cadets, but he could not drag his eyes away from her pretty face. He stared in awe as it contorted in rage and righteous fury. It wasn't until her slim hand grabbed the communicator from the purse hanging from her shoulder that the cadets finally backed off their advance and trudged off.

Chekov still gaped in marvel even as his angel's face morphed from wrathful to worry. He allowed her to help him sit upright on the floor. Still unsure of what to say to this beautiful creature, he shut his eyes briefly as her cool hands brushed against his forehead and cheeks.

"Hey, hey, are you there?"

Through a haze of pain and wonder, he heard her attempts to get his attentions. He opened his eyes again to see her dark eyes. They crinkled as she smiled in reassurance.

"Oh, good, I thought I lost you for a second there."

"Zank joo," Chekov said thickly, feeling as though he was speaking through a mouthful of cotton. He winced at how thick his accent sounded, but she misinterpreted his reaction.

"Are you alright? What hurts?" she asked, her cool hands brushing a few stray curls from his sweaty forehead. He leaned into her touch a little, feeling very comforted.

"Eet ees nuhthing," he lied, trying to appear stronger than he was in reality. She cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"You have a busted lip, and bruises are already forming on you. That's a bit more than 'nothing,'" she admonished. He looked at her sheepishly, and her expression softened immediately.

Her hand slipped into her bag again, once more pulling out the communicator.

"I'm going to call Sick Bay," she stated, already dialing the number.

"No!" Chekov yelped, fastening his skinny fingers around her wrist. She looked up in surprise, giving him a questioning gaze.

He sighed in defeat, unwilling to let go of her wrist for fear that she would continue her call. Understanding his hesitation, she shut the communicator and silently urged him to explain.

"Beeleef it or not, I uften get into these scrapes. Normally, I vould go to Sick Bay, but I 'ave been there too uften, zey say. I vas told if I vent there once more zis semester, zey vould alert my parents," he explained.

The angel looked confused again, unconsciously tilting her head to the side.

"I em only fifteen," Chekov relented, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. She nodded in understanding. Overprotective parents must be universal because she never probed further about making him go to Sick Bay.

"Is that why they were picking on you and beating you up?" she asked in a horribly straightforward fashion. Her words were curt, but her hand was soft against his hair. He nodded once, licking the corner of his mouth to relieve his skin of some excess blood.

"And because I em better zan zem at math."

He couldn't help but brag as he allowed a small note of pride to color his words. She smiled beautifully, causing his heart to beat a little faster. He found himself smiling in return, despite the sharp pain he felt as he stretched his split lip.

"I can't just let you go to your dorm or wherever without making sure you're okay," she consented, helping him stand on his feet. "Where were you going, anyway?" she asked as she placed her firm hands on his unsteady shoulders.

"I vas go-eeng back to my dorm, actshually," Chekov started, shutting his eyes as dizziness took hold. "Professor Pascale allowed me to feenish my vork in the mathematics laboratory."

He blinked rapidly, ridding himself of the honeycomb vision. With a reassuring nod in her direction, she slowly removed her hands warily and allowed him to stand without assistance.

"Zank joo," he repeated. She waved it off with an airy hand, a gentle grin on her face.

"No problem. Anyway, I don't want you go back to your dorm yet," she restated. She looked off unfocused into the distance, biting her bottom lip in a manner that was slowly driving Chekov crazy. He barely had a chance to swallow before she turned her attentions back to him, her eyes bright with an idea.

"How about I take you to a med student instead? I know this guy, he's pretty good. He won't take you to the Sick Bay," she promised, her eyes peering imploringly into his. As though in a trance, he felt himself nod. Anything to bring that smile back on her face.

Without missing a beat, she carefully tugged on his shirt sleeve, pulling him off towards the door and out onto the open campus. They cautiously stepped down the cement stairs outside the mathematics building while he leaned heavily on her shoulder for support.

He gave her a sidelong glance as to look at her features furtively. The moonlight brushed across the front of her face, and he realized that the halo he had seen earlier had only been a trick of the hallway lights. Her flowing white angel dress was really just a blue top with a long white skirt. The florescent lights must have washed out the blue, making her only seem as though she was dressed in pure white.

"Joo look wery nice," he heard himself saying. The pain must have caused him to lose control of his voice. Yes, that was clearly the answer. He never would have complimented an older girl otherwise. "Vere joo go-eng out? I hope I deed not interrupt eenything."

"Well, I might be a little late for an outing, but it's okay. He'll understand," she said, using her free hand to move her ponytail over her shoulder. "If you don't mind," she started, looking over towards Chekov, "could I call him and let him know I'll be late?"

Chekov shook his head as she started to dig around in her purse for her communicator. He listened as she told whoever was on the other end that she would be a delayed, but not to leave the restaurant because she would be there as soon as possible. Disappointed that she seemed to be already taken, he kept his gaze on the ground ahead of them as they headed towards the upperclassmen dorms.

"By the way," she asked, turning that beautiful smile to him once more, "what's your name?"

"Pavel Chekov."

"Uhura."

* * *

Chekov eyed the door warily. Uhura had just knocked briskly, calling out some name he didn't recognize. Behind the door, he could hear some creative language and a suggestion of what whoever the hell was at the door should do instead.

Uhura only rolled her eyes in amusement as the door slid open to reveal a man older than Uhura. He stood bare-chested wearing only a pair of black Starfleet issued pajama pants and a scowl on his face. The growl ended in his throat as he realized who positioned herself in his doorway.

"Thought you were Jim," he muttered, his face twisting into a grumpy expression.

"Oh, so he's not here then?" she asked, peering over the man's shoulder into the room. When he shook his head no, she smiled broadly. "Thank God, I was worried I'd have to deal with him."

With a chuckle, the grumpy expression melted slightly off his face as she gently pushed past him into the dorm room. The cranky man snorted as he looked at Chekov, who was feeling increasingly nervous as each second passed. He gave a tiny shake of his head before indicating that Chekov should enter.

Avoiding the older man's gaze, he slid in and stood awkwardly next to Uhura. Unsure of what to do, he glanced around, taking in his surroundings. A heady scent of chips and something Chekov couldn't define filled the air. The half of the room closer to window was haphazardly messy. Video games lay scattered on the floor around it while the bed was covered with tousled sheets. The desk under the window was suspiciously lacking in text books, but there were a few magazines there that made Chekov want to blush. He hoped Uhura did not see them.

Embarrassed, he looked on the other side of the room, which was slightly neater. The desk was covered with books and a computer that hummed with energy. The other bed was unmade, too, but the man sloppily fixed the covers in a hurried attempt to straighten up. He grabbed a shirt draped over the back of the desk chair and pulled it over his head.

He reemerged with a cowlick, causing Uhura to laugh a little. She walked over to fix his hair while he grunted again, jerking his head away from her.

"None of that now," he chided. "Who's this?" The man gestured roughly to Chekov, who felt very small indeed.

"Oh, this is Chekov. This," she said, turning towards Chekov, "is Leonard McCoy."

McCoy nodded briskly. He ran his eyes over Chekov, giving him a once over. Without asking, he took a few long strides over to him. His fingers started poking and prodding at all the newly formed bruises, causing Chekov to wince.

"There was a fight," Uhura explained, sitting herself down comfortably at the desk. "Chekov can't go to Sick Bay, so I thought I'd give you some practical experience."

She gave what Chekov assumed was her most winning grin as McCoy glared at her. Despite his cantankerous countenance, he resumed prodding Chekov. Without another word, he pulled the younger boy's shirt off, casting it off to the side.

Chekov felt very naked. He had never felt his physique was inadequate, but Uhura had already seen him pummeled by two cadets much stronger than he, and McCoy was incredibly fit for an aspiring doctor. He gave an inaudible sigh. Life's just not fair.

Thankfully, Uhura had graciously found something on McCoy's desk that occupied her attentions.

"So how'd you find him?" McCoy asked her as though Chekov wasn't in the room. He narrowed his eyes indignantly as the doctor smeared some foul creams across the fresh red bruises on his stomach.

"Hot date," she teased without looking up from the papers she leafed though.

"It's Tuesday."

"Congratulations, McCoy. You know your days of the week," she answered dryly. He continued to look ill-tempered in her direction until he finally seemed to realize that she was not going to expand upon how she had found Chekov.

His heart expanded gratefully. She wasn't going to look at him shirtless, she wasn't going to embarrass him by telling his mortifying story. She may not be a literal angel, but Chekov was still pretty sure his prayers had been answered.

McCoy wiped the blood from Chekov's face with only a tissue, wordlessly reassuring Chekov that his injuries were just minor. Giving him a final examination, he brusquely shoved the previously discarded shirt into Chekov's surprised hands.

"There. You'll live."

Chekov nodded silently, quickly putting his shirt back on. Uhura waited a few seconds to assure Chekov would be completely covered before glancing up towards him and McCoy.

"Where's Kirk?" she asked, shuffling the papers around on his desk in a more orderly fashion.

"Hot date," he answered in exasperation. They simultaneously shook their heads, leading Chekov to assume this was not an unusual occurrence for McCoy's roommate.

"But it's Tuesday," Uhura joked congenially. Her eyes met Chekov's before grinning playfully up at McCoy.

"Congratulations, Uhura. You know your days of the week."

* * *

Whatever salve McCoy had applied to Chekov's bruises, it worked extremely well. With the exception of a slight tenderness in his stomach where the cadets had punched him, Chekov felt as good as new.

McCoy had sent him off with a warning to be more careful and that if he needed any more ointment, to just find him somewhere on campus. Despite the man's irritable exterior, Chekov had liked him well enough.

Uhura and Chekov walked across the campus again, this time towards the underclassman dorms. Very few cadets were around the campus in the dark on a Tuesday. Chekov found himself grateful for the seclusion. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply before emitting a long sigh. Uhura laughed softly, looking over at him. He met her gaze with sleepy eyes. At this moment, he wasn't sure what he wanted more in life: to fall into a deep, relaxing sleep or to spend an indefinite amount of time with the pretty girl beside him.

"Feeling better?" she asked, her tone holding much more compassion than the other cadet's had.

"Yes, wery much," he nodded. He made up his mind. He'd rather spend an indefinite amount of time with the pretty girl beside him. This time, he couldn't blame his feelings on the pain.

"I'm glad to hear it," she smiled. Her steps slowed until she trailed to a stop. Chekov stopped walking as well, watching her watch him.

"I'd love to stay and chat some more, but I really do have to go meet someone," she apologized. Chekov blinked in surprise. He had forgotten that she had postponed some date to take care of him.

"No, no, eet's fine. Zank joo for ewerything," he said earnestly. "I only hope joo vill not be too late."

She shook her head. After searching in her purse, she pulled out her communicator. Chekov assumed she was going to alert her date that she was finally on her way.

"No, don't worry about it. It was really only about a half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes," she waved aside his comment. His eyes widened in surprise. Had it really only been less than an hour? It seemed like so much longer that he had known her.

"Here. Let me see yours."

Chekov saw she held out her communicator and quickly pulled his from his pants pocket. Through some lucky stroke, it had not been destroyed during his fight with the cadets. They exchanged communicators, and she looked expectantly at him.

"You're supposed to put in your info," she teased lightly. The moment passed in silence as they typed in their own contact information.

"If you ever find yourself in any trouble like that ever again, contact me. I mean it," she demanded in a tone that made Chekov certain that she was a woman who made sure she always got what she wanted.

Once the communicators were returned to their respective owners, she gave him a final smile and a wave of her hand. He stood standing there on the grass for some indistinct amount of time even after her lithe form had escaped his view.

When he finally made his way back to the dorm, he slumped into his bed, not bothering to study for his Starfleet History exam scheduled later on in the week. His roommate asked him what happened and what that awful smell was, but Chekov only ignored him.

His bed felt soft and comforting under his slightly aching body. If his roommate noticed the goofy smile on his face, he didn't say anything. Chekov shut his eyes, the sight of the semi-angel's smile imprinted in his mind. Despite getting beat up by two very large cadets and despite smelling like manure, this was still one of the best days he had since arriving at the Academy.

* * *

_So, what did you think? I know Chekov's accent is particularly thick, but I figure he only just arrived at Starfleet Academy only a few months ago. A year, at most. He's not used to the English dialects yet. It won't be as thick in the following chapters._

_Please review and let us know if you like this or not!_

_(I love Bones/Uhura!friendship!)_


	2. It was Wednesday

_Glee! I'm so excited by how well received this was! Thanks, everyone._

_This chapter was written by **St. Valentine**. She deserves all credit and, wow, she did a great job. Also, this takes place after the movie._

_**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Not even my own aloe vera for my sunburn. Which is intense._

* * *

It was Wednesday.

And perhaps, to the rest of the crew, it was merely another day of the week. But to Pavel Chekov, it was another reason to feel butterflies rummaging through his empty stomach. It was another reason to exhume the small shards of hope he hid especially for safe keeping.

Only Wednesday was safe for their emergence from nonchalance.

And he was grateful there was ever room for the existence of Wednesday.

Tradition had always been a part of his life. Since his childhood, in Russia, when his boisterous family chattered endlessly over matzo ball soup and _challah, _and the corridors of their home would be brimming over with the familiar hum of conversation. It was only natural that Chekov continued to carry on the true essence of tradition himself, and make small customs of his own.

Wednesdays were spent with Uhura. Ever since they had been assigned to the Enterprise, that was the way it had been. Spock disappeared in the line of duty and, luckily for Chekov, didn't resurface until after his weekly inspection had been finished.

He deemed it logical that Uhura spent time with other Ensigns while he was away, and Chekov could almost hug the Commander. Almost.

At least, when he didn't wander into dangerous territory, pondering the fact that Uhura had slowly fallen in love with Spock. And he'd seen it over the years they had been friends. Unluckily for him.

Everything was prepared the way it always was on Wednesday night, underneath the white glow of the fluorescent lights. Whenever she was not there with him, by the time he was relieved, Chekov would proceed to get her food for her, out of common Russian gentleman courtesy.

And although Chekov was much too slight and not very suave, like the typical Slavic gentleman, he made up for it in manner and decency.

He had stared at the empty place before him for too long. The food that he had placed there, for her alone, began to lose its radiating curls of steam, indicating its loss of warmth. Indicating the cold metal of the vacant chair. Indicating the cold, inhospitable churn that made his food curdle and sicken his senses.

Where was she?

For a few moments, he watched the emptiness before him expand. Growing, and never seeming to stop even if he wanted it to. It had become apparent after an entire hour of waiting that she would not be coming at all.

And then the thoughts began to stir.

Was she angry with him?

Did she even…like him anymore?

What had he done wrong?

Had she forgotten, or was there something much more ominous stirring behind the ambiguity of her absence?

At the possibility of foreboding circumstances plaguing Uhura's nonattendance, Chekov stood up suddenly out of mere reaction to his portentous reflecting.

The bottom legs of his chair squealed in protest. A few surrounding crewmen looked up from their meals and cast him a questioning look, resulting in a blush on behalf of Chekov, but as he recovered from his lack of subtlety, he returned to his purpose, and began walking briskly across the room.

It wasn't until he reached the boundaries separating corridor from Mess Hall that his pace quickened into that of a throttling rush. He pushed past goldenrods and blues and reds, all blending into one canvas drawn with the monotony of color and rank, but he was inconsolable in his worry.

Had she forgotten him so easily? It was rather hard to push riotous curls and bright, round, inquisitive eyes and that brusque accent which went down in infamy amongst the crewmembers.

Quite difficult to forget, at least in his own slightly narcissistic mind.

And Chekov could easily owe much of his underlying fear to the factor that fed the adrenaline hastening him toward her quarters – he only had her as his confidant, his Wednesday night companion. How could he bear to lose her in any way?

The entrance to her quarters were undisturbed, and for that Chekov drew a breath of relief. It was cleansing, and most of the toxicity fled from his blood immediately. He gathered the pouting flesh of his bottom lip between nervously biting teeth, hand curling into a fist as he prepared to knock. Would she turn him away?

At last, his knuckles rapped against the door. "Lieutenant Uhura?"

No answer.

"Lieutenant Uhura, it is Chekov."

At last, there were signs of life emerging from within the concealed quarters.

"Not now, Chekov. Please, go away."

The boy's heart would have broken, if not for the small inclination of hurt in her voice that drew his attention away from his own selfish feelings and directed them toward hers. There had been tears in her voice. Wet and heavy and diluting its intrinsic musical buoyancy.

He flattened the flesh of his palms against the cold metal door.

"Lieutenant, please…vhat is it that you are troubled vith?"

There was no answer, and so he persisted.

"Uhura…let me help vith you…I can-"

The door suddenly opened, and there she was. Still the portrait of beauty beneath her watery mask and with trails of eyeliner trickling into her sorrow-lined mouth. Touches of anger were apparent in her eyes, and at first Chekov was afraid.

"Ensign, I request that you remove yourself," she demanded, and gritted her teeth, tears still wobbling traces of dew down her weary cheeks. "I wish to be alone-"

"But, vait I-"

"Entirely alone." She finished, and the door slid shut. It was now Chekov's turn to clench his teeth and bite back fuming words.

What was it in women that made them so infuriatingly stubborn?

In his irritation, he flopped himself defiantly against the door, his back thudding dully against the cold metal. What to do now? She would not allow him inside, to comfort her, to extend his warming console in the only way he knew how – actual human interaction. Was there any other way to extend condolence?

He didn't know what was going on. What had made her so terribly miserable, and yet able to reject her young, and rather naïve, Russian companion so vehemently. And, not to mention, without so much as the smallest explanation why. Chekov was, to put it simply, vexed by her actions. She'd never been that way before, and it was, to say the least, concerning.

He had to go in there. Even if she wouldn't speak to him for a week, for two, for a month even – he had to know what had happened. Uhura was a strong woman. She had been taught the ideals of strength and loyalty since she was young, and it was apparent that they had never left her. To cry in front of a man was bad enough, but Chekov? He was a boy; and that was one of the worst scenarios of them all. It was no surprise she had become slightly aggressive upon finding him on her doorstep. Chekov, who'd hardly had a gloomy storm cloud rain on his parade in his entire short lifespan.

"Lieutenant Uhura, please forgive my breaking of code of conduct, but I insist I must…"

He entered the code to open the door and it gave a soft hiss as it drew back to reveal the dark and murky atmosphere behind its glowing exterior. The lights were dimmed to near extinction, and their reaching fingers infringed the reigning legion of shadows that concealed the pleasant color of the walls. Her bed was unmade and, now that he saw her, he realized the dark hair which spilled down her back was disheveled, not at all like the sleek ponytail he always saw her wearing.

The expectation was for her to react.

To yell, to scream, to pull her hair from the roots and forbid him to speak to her ever again. But she did nothing, merely sat there and fondled something in her hand, held secret by the ravaging darkness which consumed her figure almost wholly if not for the shock of red that unearthed her from the encroaching void. His footsteps were wary, as he still expected something from her. Perhaps she didn't notice his unauthorized entry. Forced entry, if he were to be more realistic.

"Are…are you alright?" He ventured, reaching out his hand as he neared her. It recoiled as her muscles seemed to tauten beneath the scarlet fabric of her uniform.

"I told you to go away, Ensign."

"You should know by now that you are more important to me than following regulation." He smirked, but it disappeared into the gloom.

"I wish to be alone, for now. I insist that you respect my wishes and return to your own quarters." She replied hoarsely; her weeping had stripped all traces of gentleness from her voice.

"It is Vednesday, and I thought it vas strange that you did not show."

She was silent now, with the realization of how truly futile it would be to will him away with words. Chekov was aware of this in mere moments, after she did not reciprocate his rather untimely conversation.

"Tell me vhat has happened, and I vill go. I promise."

Not even a sliver of an answer reached him. Fury breached the borders of consistency, of his ability to settle into tangible serenity. No outbursts, no heedless rages. But Chekov would not be ignored when she was in such distress. And so, he mimicked her habitual strength, her demanding ways. He reached for her, pulling her hand and in her weakness, her body obediently followed, facing him directly. Her breath withdrew from her like a wisp of soul. Unraveling and bleeding, sodden with insistent tears.

"What part of leave don't you comprehend?" She seethed, searching his round, liquid eyes. "Must I translate it for you in Russian?"

"If that's vhat it takes, then I vill not stop you. All I need is to know vhat is vrong, and then you're free of me. Forever, if you vish it so."

She bit her lip and averted her fiery gaze to her burnished shoes, as if requesting their wisdom, for words and patience in the face of this demanding boy. She drew a trembling breath, and another tear defied its black-lined borders. He released her from his surprisingly strong grip, and his wiry form followed her movements as she eased onto the mattress of her bed, tracing lines into the palms of her hands.

"Commander Spock, he's uh," she paused and chewed adamantly on her lip. "We've…hit a brick wall, it seems."

Part of Chekov felt thrilled, that selfish half of him he'd hoped to contain in her presence.

But the other half of him, the portion that was devoted to her happiness, wilted with the dying remains of her hopes. She loved Spock, so dearly despite her strength and independence. And whatever it was that was tearing them apart was tearing Chekov as well.

"Vhat is it that is vrong between you?" Chekov's pulse quickened as he hesitantly garnered her dark russet hands into his. "You may tell me vhatever you vish. Anything, and I vill listen."

She offered him a watery smile. "There isn't much to tell, Chekov. Just…finality. You will understand someday, when you love someone. You'll just know when….when it's time to let them go."

He merely wandered over the idea of her not knowing. Throes of disappointment coursed through him, but they were so miniscule against the great black portrait of her dreary despair that they seemed light years away from where he remained, next to her, drinking in the very concept of her presence. When she only thought of him fleetingly, as opposed to the mind-consuming thoughts of her beloved Spock.

"I am sure that, vhen the time comes, I vill be as upset as you have been now."

Uhura withdrew her hand, and Chekov was sorry for the loss of its warmth.

But as she softly curved her palm against his cheek, he willed away the natural urge to close his eyes and lean into the fragile wraith of its existence. That it was there, beneath his pink-tinged flesh. And though it was on the terms of friendship only, Chekov's imagination had always been so vibrant and alive and utterly creative.

Later, he would dream that it had been out of love she had gestured to him.

Out of love, and not merely amity.

"You know, you're good at the consoling part, Chekov," she granted him another half-hearted smile, glossy with slowly fading tears, but the deep-threaded misery did not allay from her soft, dark eyes. "As angry as I am with you for breaking into my quarters, I'm glad you're here with me."

"Da. I am glad of it also, Lieutenant Uhura."

If only she knew the obscured truths behind the misleading windowpanes of his clandestine confession.

If only she knew.

* * *

_**St. Valentine** lightened up considerably on the accent. Do you guys think it's still too strong? It can be eliminated all together if you think that would be better. Let us know what you think! And let us know what you think of the chapter!_


	3. Confrontation

_Thanks for all the reviews/favs/love that you guys have given this fic. It's all very appreciated. I hope you all enjoy this chapter just as much! This story is co-written with **St. Valentine**, and this chapter was written by yours truly._

_**Disclaimer**: I do not own Star Trek. Just a nice, tall glass of lemonade iced tea. Yum!_

_**NOTE**:_ Italics _indicates memory. This particular memory takes place after the events of the prologue, but before the movie._

* * *

_Had anyone cared enough to pay attention, they would have noticed a pronounced slump and air of resignation surrounding the lithe Russian. For once, he was thankful to blend into the crowd, unnoticed by the others. Normally this ignorance would have offended him, but today he was simply not in the mood._

_Chekov's eyes darted around the campus as he exited the Administrative Offices Building. Earlier that day, Uhura had mentioned something about studying outside the Xenolinguistics Building. It had not been an invitation to join her, just a casual comment she had made offhand. But he strongly felt the need to talk to her and could only hope she would not mind the intrusion._

_It did not take long to locate her. In the few months that he had known her, his eyes had trained themselves to quickly seek her out in a crowd. He's not sure if he should be impressed or worried how easily he could find her in a sea of identical red._

_Uhura had chosen to sit on a bench located directly in the sunlight, taking advantage of the beautiful weather San Francisco was having that June. He approached her slowly, taking advantage of this chance to watch her without her noticing._

_She held her PADD up close to her face, undoubtedly to carefully skim whatever was written on it for any translation errors. One toned calf was delicately crossed over the other, and her boots sat neglected on the ground next to the bench. Chekov knew he wasn't the only male on campus who had noticed just how endlessly long her legs seemed to be._

"_Uhura!"_

_The tall, lovely girl turned her head at the sound of her name. Her long, dark ponytail slid smoothly over her shoulder as she beamed at her caller._

"_Hello, Chekov," she answered. She took note of his dejected face, and her smile soon slipped away. "What's wrong?" She patted the side of the bench next to her, indicated for him to sit down. _

"_I just spoke vith Professor Sheldon," he began, looking at his fingers as he flexed their slender tendons. Uhura watched him twitch with nervousness and gathered his hands in her own. The contact was purely platonic, but he felt a bitter surge of hopefulness bubble in his stomach._

"_He vants me to tutor other students in math," Chekov revealed. A look of confusion passed over her face until he looked at her meaningfully._

"_Oh," she breathed, understanding the implications of what he said._

_Though Chekov hadn't been beaten up since he and Uhura first met (he suspected Uhura and McCoy had something to do with that), he had still been picked on a significant amount._

_If he became a math tutor and unintentionally rubbed it in others' faces that he was a prodigy, there was no telling what other bullying he might be subjected to._

_She gave his hands a final squeeze before pulling away. She beamed brightly at him, her eyes crinkling with a promise._

"_Don't worry. I won't let anyone hurt you."_

* * *

An hour had passed since he had first arrived, banging on her door and begging for entry. Despite her assurances that she was alright and wanted to be alone, Chekov had refused to leave. Instead, he had joined her on the bed; his leg flush against hers, her head against his shoulder, and his arms around her waist. His position was awkward, he was sure the muscles in his back would be unbearably sore tomorrow.

But his discomfort mattered little. He rested his head on top of hers, allowing himself a moment to breathe in her spicy scent. His heart thrummed in his chest, and he wondered if she could feel his pulse. Pressing his fingers tightly on her side, he imagined he could feel her own pulse under the soft red fabric. They were so close, he thought he could hear the hot blood rush through her body.

How could Spock have the audacity to say he loved her when he left her in such a miserable state? Commanding officer or not, Chekov felt a surge of anger towards the pointy eared bastard. Uhura deserved so much more. So, so much more.

He muttered as much into her hair, the comforting words barely decipherable. She mumbled incoherently into his neck, her lips accidentally brushing against his. His eyes slid shut, and his face twisted with guilt. He should not be enjoying this, but it just felt so right.

"Don't vorry. I von't let anyone hurt you again," he whispered, echoing her words from years past.

Uhura lifted her head from his shoulder. Her tears had stopped a while ago, but the morose look had not fully disappeared from her eyes.

"You can't promise that," she said halfheartedly. Her woeful eyes peered further into his as he wrapped his arms tighter around her.

"Yes, I can. I vill be here for you. You are my friend," he stated more cheerfully than he felt. She needed cheerfulness right now, and he would be the one to provide it for her. Anything she needed, he would give to her.

Uhura gave him a guarded look, unsure if she should retort against his statement. He gave her what he knew was his sweetest smile and watched as her hesitant look melted away. She chuckled dryly, shaking her head slowly.

Then she looked back at Chekov, a tiny smile apparent on her own face. His cheeks flushed brightly as his eyes traced the wide curve of her lips.

"So you'll protect me?" She commented, pulling herself away from him. Her head cocked to the side, and her smile widened. He looked at her sheepishly as she stood up from her bed.

"Russians inwented protection," he finally answered, following her lead and standing up off the bed. He relished the sound of her chuckle, still raspy and tired from her crying.

Acting on impulse, Chekov swiftly grabbed Uhura's hand. He pulled her nearer to him with ease. She stood directly in front of him when he placed his other hand on her neck, bringing her head closer to his. He placed his forehead against her and looked directly into her chocolate eyes.

"They vere inspired by the Bantu."

The air around them grew more comfortable as his mouth quirked into a half smile. Even in the dim lights with her eyes still red and puffy from tears, she had never looked lovelier to him than she did at that moment. Her breath blew heatedly against his cheeks before she slowly returned his smile.

For the second time that night, she pulled away, shaking her head. Her deep set eyes looked questioningly at him as she pulled the zebra-striped blanket off of her bed.

"In Russia, ve do not go to bed upset," he explained, trying to find a reason as to why he had breached that level of intimacy.

She nodded once, a habit she had picked up from Spock. He winced internally, hating the connection that so undeniably existed between her and the Vulcan. Pushing his jealousy aside, he wondered briefly if she had picked up any mannerisms from him.

They shared their good nights as he began to exit the room. Stopping at the door before leaving, he glanced back. Uhura had her back turned to him as she walked through the door leading to the bathroom.

Chekov never wanted to leave her quarters. He was tired, she was beautiful, and that was enough for him.

He permitted himself a few more seconds of standing on the precipice of her room, breathing in her scent that lingered in the air. With a sigh, he finally stepped through the door into the hallway outside.

The air felt significantly cooler in the hallway. Uhura always kept her quarters warmer than room temperature since Spock's Vulcan physiology fared better in hot climates. He filled his lungs with the colder air as he made his way to his own quarters.

It wasn't very late at night, only around nine o'clock. But he was emotionally drained, too tired to function on more than a basic level. He entered his quarters and slumped onto the bed without bothering to change, brush his teeth, or any of the other standard bedtime rituals.

Before falling into a dreamless sleep, Chekov hoped Uhura would have a good night's rest which she so desperately needed. As dark curls of sleep entered his mind and unfocused his thoughts, he wished for Spock to have nightmares.

* * *

His whole life, Chekov had always preferred the morning over the night. Most people in Starfleet were the opposite, their eyes always searching for night skies and stars. But Chekov prided himself on not being like most people. Yes, the night had a dark appeal and glamour that he could admire, but morning was the true beauty.

As a child in Russia, he was often the first of his family to rise. He would revel in those few moments of bright silence that seemed to fill the house. He loved to watch the thin light shine through the windows and gradually gather strength as the minutes wore on and his family woke up.

Now in space, where darkness presses in from every window, he still woke up earlier than most. Chekov missed the sunlight and the very fresh air of morning, but that early-morning atmosphere was the same. He was often the first on the Enterprise to walk around the hallways, happily taking in the solitude and feeling very refreshed. Captain Kirk gladly gave him morning shifts on the Bridge for that means he himself can sleep in a little longer.

But today, he awoke without his usual cheerfulness. He was tangled in his sheets as though his sleep had been filled with nightmares he had tried to escape from in vain. Finally removing himself from his sheeted imprisonment, he tumbled out of bed to quickly dress himself.

He looked down to see he still wore the dirty clothes from the day before. His shirt still smelled strongly of Uhura, and he was reluctant to change. Her scent comforted him more than even the scent of his mother's cooking.

But one glance at the small, circular mirror tacked on his wall and he knew he had to wash his greasy hair. Stripping his clothes off as he dashed into his bathrooms, he took a hurried shower, doing little more than washing his hair and running the bar of soap over his pale skin.

Before the small room even had a chance to fill entirely with steam, he turned the water off and dressed in a new, clean uniform. Without bothering to clean up his dirty clothes, he raced out the door.

Droplets of water fell from his curls and bounced against the glossy floor below him as he walked though the hallways to Uhura's room. Normally when he first woke up, he would grab breakfast from the Mess Hall and eat it on the way to the Bridge, where he would receive his daily instructions. But today, he had other plans in mind.

Rounding the last corner before reaching her door, Chekov could hear strains of a heated conversation. As he grew closer to her quarters, he could make out her lilting, angry voice in sharp contrast to Spock's deep, almost mournful cadence.

Chekov stood nervously in front of her doors. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling lightly on the soft flesh as he tried to decide what course of action he should take. Uhura would surely be upset with him if he stood outside the door, eavesdropping. Yet, he couldn't find the will to walk away. Though not idealistic, it would provide a chance for him to gather insight as to why Uhura and Spock had "hit a brick wall."

Careful that his heavy boots not make much noise against the tile, he took a few steps to the left of her door. He leaned against the wall, his back sliding down until he rested on the floor. He shifted his body weight and inclined his head to the side to better hear the argument occurring inside.

He could not make out the words very clearly, but from their tones, he grasped the general terms of their fight. Uhura's voice wavered between anger and indignation with various degrees of sorrow inflecting her tone. Spock's voice, more emotional that Chekov had almost ever heard, was a steady, compelling depth. If Chekov strained his ears, he could hear the strains of apology filter the Vulcan's muffled words.

After a few minutes of ceaseless dialogue, they must have moved closer to her door. The words were now much clearer to Chekov, who stood up in case either of them exited the room. He did not want them to find him sitting on the floor like a child during story time.

"You once asked me what I needed," sounded Spock's even voice. "Do you remember what I told you then?"

"Of course I do, Spock," Uhura said, her voice a mix of exasperation and wistfulness.

"My answer has not changed."

Chekov desperately wanted to know what his original answer had been and how it related to the subject at hand. His agile mind began whipping up possible answers before Spock began speaking again.

"In another timeline, perhaps, I was able to stay aboard the Enterprise. That option no longer exists for me."

A silence fell between them before Spock probed further.

"If you would please oblige me, tell me you understand."

"Of course I understand." She spoke as though she was tired of understanding, but was unable to yell anymore. "It's your culture." She stopped abruptly.

"And I'm just a girl," Uhura finished in a softer, more defeated voice than Chekov had ever heard her use. "That doesn't mean I can't be upset," she finished in a slightly stronger, more indignant tenor.

"You are so much more than just a girl."

The words were quiet, barely any emotion slipped through Spock's mouth. But he said so much with so few words. His husky, hesitant tone spoke volumes of his barely concealed love for her. Chekov felt disgusted just listening.

"When are you leaving?" Uhura asked briskly, obviously desperate to redirect their conversation. Chekov could hear the distress in her voice, though he suspected she was trying in vain to disguise it.

"This evening I shall make my departure. Mr. Sulu has already entered the coordinates for New Vulcan, and we are traveling towards the destination as we speak." Spock's voice returned to its usual clipped manner.

"I imagine you have plenty of loose ends to tie up, Commander," she replied, frost edging her words. She must have regretted her tone because a pause passed between them before she spoke in a gentler, somewhat kinder voice. "Let's just say our good-byes, now."

"Nyota."

Shocked, Chekov blinked from his position outside the door. Nyota? Not even _he_ was allowed to call her that. Spock was no better than him. Only in Uhura's eyes was Spock more special.

"Please, Spock." Her voice cut across Chekov's astonishment, bringing him back to the situation at hand. Her pleading twisted his heart. He wanted nothing more than to barge into the room, shoo Spock away, and comfort her. "I don't want to have this looming over my head all day."

"Very well."

A weighted pause crackled with electricity before Spock spoke again.

"Despite how it may seem to you, please know that you are a very important person in my life." His words were muffled as though he were clutching to her slender body and speaking into her hair. Chekov felt sick to his stomach as he detected actual tenderness and longing in that damned alien's voice.

"Spock."

Chekov could barely make out Uhura's strangled, _illogical_ response. She, too, sounded muffled, like she was speaking into a shoulder or neck.

"Farewell, Nyota."

"Good-bye, Commander."

The door whooshed open, and the resulting air brushed quickly against Chekov's defensive expression. Spock did not so much as blink when he noticed Chekov's protective stance.

"Good morning, Ensign," he greeted cordially, as though he had not just shattered someone's heart. "What is your purpose here?"

Chekov's stomach churned with anger as he glared at the Vulcan's cool expression.

"I'm here to check on Lieutenant Uhura, Commander," he said, careful to add as much venom as he could into his superior's title. "I heard she vas upset."

Spock's polite expression blanched as he raised one eyebrow.

"I see."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked down the hallway towards his own quarters. To pack up, Chekov presumed. Too enraged to watch the older man's retreating back, he turned to face Uhura who stood in her doorway, gazing at him.

Before Chekov could open his mouth to apologize or offer any words of comfort, Uhura just shook her head. Though her eyes were dry, they were irrefutably sad and filled with a determined sense of resignation. Her lips turned upwards in a stiff smile as she ran her knuckles lightly along the side of his cheek.

"Thank you," she mouthed before fully exiting her room and heading in the opposite direction from Spock's departure.

The feel of her hand on his skin sent shivers down his spine. How long he stood there outside Uhura's empty room, he did not know. He released a tension in his shoulders that he had not realized he had been holding. Then he headed towards the Bridge where there would be work and mathematics and at least some semblance of normalcy.

* * *

_There you have it! Enjoy it? Hate it? Have any suggestions? Review and let us know!_

_By the way, did anyone else catch Princess Diaries 2 on the Disney channel today? Chris Pine's movie debut! love_


	4. Byron Goodbyes

_I apologize for not updating in so long. It was **St.** **Valentine's** turn to write the chapter and I was waiting for her. I only just found out that she no longer has internet and that's why she has not e-mailed me her chapter. So, from now own I will be writing this fic by myself. I endeavour to write the chapters faster than I have been previously._

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own Star Trek. If I did, the next movie would have a lot of shirtless!Karl Urban. And I'd have to spend a lot of late nights with Mister Zachary Quinto going over the script. nudgenudge._

_**NOTE**: I tried different perspectives in this chapter. This is a technique that I will most likely be using throughout the rest of the story. Let me know how it works._

* * *

Not even Sulu was smiling. That alone should have been a sign that something had gone terribly wrong.

The entire Bridge felt cold, everyone's eyes firmly planted on their own screens. Every face was drawn to a point, narrow either from personal displeasure or just generally affected from the mood of the Bridge. The silence wore on, save for the clicking of keys, shifting in seats, and other basic clatter.

Kirk sat in his captain's chair with his elbow propped on the armrest. His chin rested in the palm, his hand shifted to cover his mouth. He was immobile, not even fidgeting in his seat. His steely eyes stared unblinkingly at the main window. The only time he moved was about half an hour ago when McCoy had arrived.

"Just leave, McCoy."

He spoke in such a commanding voice that Uhura imagined he finally sounded like the captain he was. McCoy must have recoiled from that commanding voice for he left without ever even explaining his entrance. Kirk had watched the doctor's retreating form before finally resuming his concentrated stare at the window in front of him.

Sulu was nearly as still, moving only when necessary. He did not turn his head to glance at Chekov or engage him in conversation as he commonly did. His hands traveled across the many gadgets and levers before him, setting the course for New Vulcan.

Chekov sat beside him at his own station. Unlike the others, he shifted and twitched. His hands compulsively ran through his thick curls, tangled from his many ministrations. Uhura watched impassively as his shoulders tightened and twisted under the gold fabric of his uniform.

Her eyes skimmed the room once more, again noting everyone's stiff position. She alone was not focused solely on her work. More than just a few times, she glanced at her monitor to check the time.

They would arrive at New Vulcan in just a few minutes.

The silence was so pure that the whir of the turbolift could be heard before the doors even opened. Beneath her anger and listlessness, she felt a shiver of amusement as everyone's heads moved as one to watch Spock enter.

He walked through the lift onto the Bridge. Two small bags were slung over his shoulder and she felt slightly impressed that he could travel so light from one residence to another. His spine ramrod straight, he glanced in her direction. She met his gaze with icy indifference before he turned away in favor of the captain.

Kirk said nothing, only nodded. Then they simultaneously looked at Sulu who stared back almost apprehensively. He checked his screens to see how close they were to New Vulcan.

"Almost ready, Captain. Commander. Coming out of warp in five… four… three… two… one."

An almost indistinct shudder ran through the Enterprise as it slowed. Uhura, used to the lurch, barely moved in her seat. A burnt-orange planet became visible through the window. It was dramatically smaller than the original Vulcan, but they were too far away to see any other differences.

"Captain Kirk to Sick Bay," Kirk pressed a button on the control panel next to his chair and spoke in that commanding tone once more. "McCoy, meet us in the transporter room."

Captain and Commander walked stiffly from the Bridge. Entering the turbolift, Kirk inclined his head towards Uhura.

"Well?" He asked, looking at her with eyebrows raised in question. When she didn't respond, he continued. "Aren't you coming?"

Unsure, she stood slowly, her hands still lingering on the edge of her desk. For some reason she could not define, she glanced at Chekov. His round eyes gave her reassurance as he subtly nodded. With a deep breath for courage, she joined them in the turbolift.

By sheer chance, she ended up standing between them both. She smelled the strong spice of Spock's incense burning during his meditation. Sandalwood. Uhura could remember when that scent could instantly relax her.

_Not anymore_, she thought bitterly. Feeling as though she were drowning in his scent and the warmth exuding from his stone-still body, she shifted her weight so that she leaned closer to Kirk. The move was subtle, but Kirk must have noticed for his fingers comfortingly grazed across the back of her dangling hand.

When her eyes glanced back subtly, he stood with his hands behind his back. A mirror image of Spock.

* * *

Uhura felt the tingle of transportation leave her body. She could hear McCoy's muttered complaints about unraveling DNA and technology and knew that the others had arrived safely. The bright sunlight invaded her eyelids and she was forced to blink repeatedly until her pupils grew accustomed to the glow.

Taking a tentative step forward, she looked around the new surroundings. Rust-colored dust rose from under her boots as she walked towards Kirk, McCoy, and Spock. Like her, they all glanced around the planet, silently forming their own opinions.

Feeling like a tourist in a big city, Uhura spun slowly in a circle, taking in the view three-sixty degrees. She had never been to Vulcan, but the images and recordings she had seen of the planet looked somewhat similar to the sight before her now. The dust was overwhelming, coating everything in red. The horizon was broken up by jagged lands, though the few constructed buildings provided some sense of organization.

Uhura watched as Kirk pushed the long sleeves of his uniform up past his elbow. The high temperature, most likely due to the planet's close proximity to the ridiculously bright sun, would be satisfactory for Vulcans, but was slightly uncomfortable for humans. Not for the first time, Uhura was glad the women's uniforms consisted of less thick, heavy fabric than the men's. Despite the heat, she was thankful to note the low humidity levels.

"What are we waiting for, Jim?" McCoy barked, beads of sweat already forming on his forehead. They all looked to Kirk, waiting for his answer. He stood a little taller, his spine straight as he assumed his leadership position.

Before he could say anything or lead them in any direction, a new voice reached them.

"You need wait no longer, Leonard."

Simultaneously they turned to find an older Vulcan approach them. He walked as stiffly as Spock, with his hands clasped behind his back. Uhura noted something familiar in his face and wondered if she had spoken to this Vulcan aboard the Enterprise right after the planet's destruction.

"How do you know my name?" McCoy asked, immediately distrustful. Kirk broke his commanding stance to glance slyly at his friend.

"Oh, your captain has undoubtedly filled me in, Doctor," the Vulcan explained with something akin to humor in his voice. Uhura felt her eyebrows rise. Did Vulcans become more apt to display emotion in their later years? This was not something she had ever encountered in her studies, but perhaps Vulcans opted not to record their _illogical_ behavior.

The Vulcan and Spock greeted each other with the Vulcan salute and a nod and Uhura was under the impression that the two men had met before. McCoy seemed to perceive the same conception and shifted his weight as though he were about to question any preexisting relationship.

However, the older Vulcan moved with surprising agility to stand before Uhura.

"Lieutenant Uhura," he said slowly. She felt oddly comforted as his dark eyes swept across her face. "_She walks in beauty, like the night_."

Not wanting to appear rude, Uhura pursed her lips slightly before smiling at the Vulcan.

"How do you do?" she asked in perfect Vulcan.

"You are," he began before pausing. "You are exactly as Jim described."

Though she wondered what exactly Kirk had told this man about her, she smiled at the Vulcan. The comforting feeling expanded within her as he nodded briskly. Without another word, he turned back to the remaining crew.

"Follow me inside. Sarek waits for Spock inside and I do not see any reason to linger outside any longer."

* * *

The building was an interesting mixture of ceramic and glass. Sunlight poured through every window, creating an almost stifling warm environment. McCoy had followed Kirk's lead and pushed his own sleeves up.

"Jim, we need short sleeved uniforms," he grumbled, looking at Uhura's bare arms with envious eyes.

"Yeah, Bones. That's my main concern right now," the captain replied sarcastically.

The older Vulcan watched them with what Uhura thought was amusement. Years of deciphering Spock's rare and vague expressions had taught her to catch subtle movements in others' faces. For some reason, she found this man to be easier to understand than she would have thought for a Vulcan.

He must have noticed her watching him surreptitiously, so she averted her eyes. Unfortunately, her vision fell to Spock's still form. Clenching her jaw, she furiously looked away and blinked hard in the direction of the still grumbling McCoy.

She was painfully aware that both Vulcans were watching her.

When Sarek strode down the hallway towards the dust-covered group, Uhura let out a barely audible sigh of relief. He nodded his greeting to the crew, making sure to lock eyes with Kirk, McCoy, and Uhura separately. His hand rose in the Vulcan salute as he faced his son, all fatherly emotions devoid from his manner.

"Hello, Father," Spock answered, his own hand raised.

"You will be staying at my new residence. Accommodations have been arranged for you until your union," Sarek responded without further greeting. Spock nodded and Uhura wondered if Vulcans ever suffered from soar necks from all their noddings.

"I thank you for accompanying my son," Sarek spoke solemnly as he addressed the crew. Uhura felt much younger than her twenty-six years under the spell of the deep, commanding voice.

"Anything for our Spock," Kirk answered. Uhura doubted that anyone on this planet other than herself and McCoy could have detected the slight bitterness laced in his otherwise friendly words. She was surprised to see the older, still unnamed Vulcan raise a single eyebrow in a manner very familiar to her.

"It is time to part," Spock said bluntly. He gave the Vulcan salute once more to the Captain and McCoy. "Live long and prosper."

"Have fun," Kirk responded, not bothering to even attempt the salute.

"And spare us the explanation that 'fun' is illogical in this instance," McCoy added. He, too, kept his hands by his side.

With a final, heavy glance between all of them, the two men and the Vulcan parted. Kirk and McCoy headed towards the door to exit outside. Kirk was already removing his communicator to signal to Scotty that they were ready to beam up.

Despite her anger directed towards Spock and the fact that they had already shared their good-bye, she lifted her hand respectfully.

"Live long and prosper," she responded, once more applying perfect Vulcan. Something flashed across Spock's eyes as she suddenly remembered that day in the classroom nearly two and a half years ago when he first taught her the phrase.

The memory overwhelmed her and she quickly turned around to follow her commanding officers.

Before she took more than two steps, a warm strong hand grasped hers. The contact surged through her body and an instant connection formed between them. In her mind, she saw flashes of herself from that day in the classroom, as seen through Spock's eyes.

He remembered, too. A week ago, this show of affection would have thrilled her. Now, she wanted nothing more than to escape.

She clenched her eyes shut and refused to look behind her to see what she knew to be an emotionless face. Pulling her hand from his, the images wiped from her mind and she nearly bolted out the door to meet the captain and the doctor.

Uhura did not look back. If she had, she would have seen Spock and Sarek walking away down the hall and the older Vulcan watching her departure.

* * *

McCoy did not return to his post in Sick Bay after they beamed back up to the Enterprise. Kirk was grateful for this. They all walked without a word towards the Bridge to reconvene with the rest of the crew. Scotty joined them as they left the transporter room, obviously curious with what transpired on the foreign planet.

All four of them stood in the turbolift, slightly cramped in the small quarters. Uhura awkwardly reached around Scotty to press the halt button.

"Permission to return to my quarters, Captain." She met him with a hard glare, daring him to refuse her request.

"Of course, Lieutenant. Permission granted."

It was Kirk's turn to awkwardly reach around McCoy to redirect the turbolift's destination. When the doors opened, Kirk watched morosely as she walked away, her dark ponytail swishing behind her.

Within seconds, the doors opened again, this time revealing the Bridge.

At the sound of arriving turbolift, Sulu and Chekov swirled in their chairs to face them. Kirk met eyes with each of them before slumping into his chair. He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache forming in his left temple.

No one seemed to want to break the silence, but finally Chekov spoke.

"Vhere is Uhura?"

"Quarters." Kirk, McCoy, and Scotty replied simultaneously. The three men glanced at each other and Kirk broke some of the tension with a half-hearted chuckle. The chuckle seemed to end the silence that had fallen over the crew.

"We shouldn't have let him go, dammit!"

"Who's going to be the science officer now?"

"More importantly, there is dust all o'er me transporter. Laddie, ah don't mean to be a pain, but we cannae leave the dust there. It may interfere with the transports."

Kirk slammed his hand down on the armrest of his chair. Immediately, Scotty stopped explaining the dangers of excess dirt to Sulu. Bones stopped his colorful language about hobgoblins and where they could stick their logic. Chekov remained silent, looking apprehensively between Kirk and the exit.

With a deep calming breath, Kirk pressed the intercom button to maintenance and ordered someone to clean the transporter room.

Without acknowledging Scotty's gratitude, he looked at Sulu.

"I will be taking applications for a new science officer. And I'll be needing a new second in command," he spoke steadily, but raised his eyebrows at the helmsman.

"Do you mean you want me to apply as second in command?" Sulu asked, unsure of the waggling eyebrows.

"I would be honored, Mr. Sulu," Kirk responded with the first true smile of the day. He extended his hand to shake the pilot's and quiet murmurs of congratulations were spoken from the rest.

"Jim, you didn't already assign a new science officer?" Bones asked sharply, refusing to be distracted by Sulu's promotion.

Kirk was unable to meet his friend's narrowed eyes and focused on brushing some of the excess dust from his black pants. Damn, this was going to take a few washings before they would be wearable again.

"Jim! What were you thinking?" the doctor exploded. Kirk glanced at his friend, but did not reprimand him for his overreaction. Over the months since Vulcan's implosion, they both had grown closer to Spock. Today, they lost an irreplaceable friend, a comrade on their mission.

"I was thinking I had some reassurance that he wasn't leaving."

He spoke quietly, fully aware that he sounded like a child trying to explain that by setting back the clocks, he could delay bedtime for a few hours. Kirk had not informed Bones about Spock Prime. He and Spock had decided to keep the information between the two of them. He kept his end of the deal by not confiding in Bones and judging by Uhura's reaction earlier on New Vulcan, Spock had not informed her either.

McCoy snorted, but did not question Kirk any further. He glanced about the Bridge uncomfortably before uncrossing his arms and clapped a hand gently on Kirk's shoulder. They exchanged a glance and Kirk offered a half-smile in thanks for not pressing the matter.

Before anyone else could speak, the turbolift opened once more. The five men turned to see Uhura standing tall in the doorframe. Kirk admired her strength as he noted that her eyes were not wet with heartbroken tears.

"Uhura?" McCoy asked, his face pulled into a frown. "I thought you went to sleep."

"Very astute, Doctor," she responded with a hint of a smile amidst her friendly sarcasm. Once again, Kirk found himself respecting the fact that she had not dissolved into tears like so many other women would have done.

"I'm not very tired," she finished. Uhura stared past Kirk and he wondered if she was looking at Chekov. Her deep-set eyes flashed to the captain's face and he found himself desperate to make her smile.

"Tired? Want some conversation? I'd be happy to comply," he started slyly, his voice instantly smoothing out. "Or if you need a different sort of companionship…" He allowed his voice to trail off suggestively, knowing full well she would refuse.

She gave him a look of disgust, but the small smile that appeared was enough for him. A ripple of laughter pealed through the Bridge as she shook her head slowly.

"Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to take a walk," she said, looking past Kirk at the younger ensign.

Kirk certainly would have given Chekov permission to leave, but was surprised that the ensign did not even ask. He stood from his seat and immediately walked with Uhura to the turbolift. Before the doors even shut, the conversation about Spock's departure erupted once more through the Bridge.

Kirk disengaged himself from the conversation, only occasionally answering Sulu's questions about New Vulcan. He should not have let Spock go.

* * *

"Why did he have to show me those stupid images," she finished angrily. Uhura let her hand slap the shiny white wall of the hallway to physically show her frustration.

Chekov grasped her hand, feeling the familiar butterflies appear somewhere behind his navel. He checked her palm to make sure she had not hurt herself. It was slightly red, but otherwise unharmed.

Something in her face tightened and she snapped her hand away from his. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest.

"I want to hate him for doing that," she added quietly. Her tone indicated that she did not mean her words and her hurt expression twisted his heart.

"But you don't."

It was not a question and required no answer or response. They continued walking for several minutes before she told him she was finally tired. They re-routed their course to end up near her quarters.

They stood before her door and she took him by surprise when she unexpectedly wrapped her arms tightly around him. He inhaled sharply before returning the hug. Chekov's eyes shut and he let his head rest atop hers. His hand stroked her ponytail, his fingers twisting the ends.

"Thank you for listening," she whispered into his gold shirt. He nodded, mussing up her hair under his cheek.

"Of course, Uhura."

The hug ended too quickly, but she had not opened the door yet. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth and she glanced left and right awkwardly. Chekov desperately wanted to ease her pain and smooth her brow.

Instead of providing such comforts, he opened his mouth to say what had been on his mind all day.

"That planet you described. Vith the dust and the older Wulcans. That could have been your life. You vould have learned a lot, but you vould newer have been happy."

Her arms crossed defensively again as she released her lip to respond apathetically.

"Who are you to know what makes me happy?"

He ignored the obvious answer, _I am your friend_. Instead, he pressed on, taking a step away from her as she opened her door.

"Did you see a single Wulcan smile while you vere there?

Her silence provided the answer he expected.

The door shut.

He walked away.

* * *

_"She walks in beauty, like the night" is a quote from Lord Byron's poem. In one of the original episodes (Is There No Truth in Beauty?), Spock quotes that to Uhura as a greeting. Technically, someone else has taken over his mind, but I always got the impression that either Kirk, Bones, or Uhura would have teased Spock about what he said to her._

_I apologize that there was not too much C/U action in this chapter, but I wanted to establish Uhura's voice and Spock's departure. More shipping and fluffiness to come, I promise!_

_Please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts._


	5. Red Pillowcase

_A few days ago, I received a message from **St. Valentine**. She visits her grandmother most weekends and is able to use internet there. She is still interested in co-writing this story, but she will only be able to send me chapters on the weekends. Hopefully, we will be able to work out a system where we can write every other chapter. I will be able to upload her chapters on the weekend and then I can upload my chapter during the weekday. Then, if everything works out, there will be two chapters per week until this fic is over._

_Let's just hope everything works out..._

_Anyway,_ this _chapter was written by me. And the next chapter, written by **St. Valentine**, will be posted shortly. I hope._

_**Disclaimer**: I own cookies, not Star Trek._

* * *

Overall, New Vulcan satisfied Spock's expectations for a new planet. Though remarkably smaller than his home planet, it was suitable for their diminished population. Since it had been established as the replaced Federation planet, many funds from other planets (particularly Earth) had been provided to construct cities and residencies for the remaining Vulcans.

Spock himself had engaged in the constructive process. The elder Vulcans designed the patterns for the buildings while the younger, more able Vulcans performed the necessary labor to erect the buildings. This was a new experience for Spock and his explorative nature had found it most fascinating.

Such construction required long hours outside and Spock found the climate to be most adequate. It was windier than Vulcan had been, but unfortunately, an exact replication of his planet was not possible. Like all the others, he knew it was illogical to comment on the conditions and kept his observations to himself.

One aspect of the planet that he did not find pleasing was the amount of russet dust that coated his person. The skin on his hands had been rubbed raw from the amount of times he vigorously scrubbed. Often when shedding his dust-covered clothing, he found himself thinking of the sterile interior of the Enterprise. Though he preferred sonic showers as they saved him time, he conceded to use the old fashioned manner of applying water and shampoo to his head. The process took several minutes longer and required the use of a towel afterwards, but it did spare him the discomfort of dust firmly attached to his black hair.

Of the Vulcans he had thus far encountered on his first week on New Vulcan, he quickly understood that he was not alone in his distaste for the dust. That similar distaste, oddly enough, bonded him to several of the other constructors with whom he worked alongside.

During a conversation with his older self, he informed him of such rendered relationships. Spock Prime had not responded, and once more, Spock questioned his decision to rejoin his race. He felt as though he had disappointed himself in some manner.

When he had first arrived on New Vulcan, he had inquired about Spock Prime's impression of the captain and the doctor.

"The friendship between Doctor McCoy and Jim has not altered in the slightest," he had deduced after a moment of quiet reflection. "And so it would seem, McCoy is as brashly prejudice as he has always been."

Spock gave an inquisitive look to which Spock Prime responded with an explanation that though the doctor often used less desirable terms such as "hobgoblin" and "pointy-eared," he had been a genuine friend and their arguments had been something of comfort between them rather than animosity.

"And, if you do not mind my asking, what did you think of Lieutenant Uhura?"

The question slipped through his mouth before he could stop it and Spock briefly pondered the notion that perhaps Jim's foolhardy nature had influenced him during his term on the Enterprise.

"From the little I observed of her, her personality has not changed. She remains to be a strong woman with impressive talent. On multiple occasions in my timeline, she demonstrated herself to be of unparallel linguistic abilities and personal capabilities. She had been my student at the Academy and I believe we formed a friendship based on my status as her mentor."

Nothing more had been said on the matter because Spock could not predict any logical progression for their conversation. Spock Prime must have observed his younger self's inclination to retreat into silence for the topic was not revisited.

Several days had passed since their short conversation and Spock felt incapable of discarding Nyota's image from his mind. This inability rendered him ill-pleased with himself. It was one of his more human qualities, but he intensely disliked when he was unable to master a task. It made him feel as though he had failed in some aspect.

Nearly two weeks after he had arrived at New Vulcan, he felt compelled to contact Nyota. He could not logically reach a conclusion as to why he felt such a need, but nevertheless, he indulged his inner desire.

After working on a new home for a Vulcan family that had managed to survive Nero's attack, he retreated to the main building located on the outskirts of the city. It had been the many-windowed building that Spock Prime had led him and the others to when they first beamed down the planet.

One of the rooms of the building consisted of many monitors used for transmission. Such communications were normally limited to more perfunctory usage and thus the room did not allow for much privacy. However, the room was nearly empty, save for a Vulcan woman located near the back. She spoke clipped Andorian and Spock surprised himself by comparing her intonation to that of Nyota's.

Pursing his lips, he sat in the straight-backed chair and arranged to send a transmission to Nyota's quarters on the Enterprise.

A cool female voice informed him the transmission was being received and they would be connected momentarily. He sat rigidly in the seat, unblinking as Nyota's face appeared on the monitor.

"Hello, Spock," she greeted. Her tone was clipped but polite, and Spock knew she was barely suppressing her surprise.

"Nyota."

She stared at him for a few moments, clearly wondering why he had contacted her. It was a rare moment for him to be at a loss for words, but as he gazed at her face with his eyes following the line of her jaw, he could not find a way to express his desire to see her.

"Can I help you with anything?"

"At the moment, no. I merely wished-"

He was cut off by the appearance of someone else on the screen. Behind Nyota, he watched Ensign Chekov sit on the edge of her bed, determinedly looking at a PADD. By his clenched fingers and unmoving eyes, Spock deduced that the ensign was not actually perusing anything, but was merely trying to afford Nyota some privacy.

Spock found his behavior to be most illogical. If he truly intended to give Nyota ample space in which to hold a private conversation, he should have left the room. His lips pursed tighter.

"I see you are busy."

His implying tone caused her to look at him in confusion. He inclined his head to the man sitting behind her and she glanced backwards at the ensign.

Nyota faced him again with her jaw set and her eyes narrowed. Spock had grown very accustomed to this bitter expression during their last few weeks together before he left the Enterprise.

"I am not busy in the manner that you are entailing. If the only reason you sent a transmission was to see how I'm doing, then I assure you that I am fine," she responded in flawless Vulcan, emphasizing her last three words. In the same self-asserted tone, she continued. "The Enterprise is fine. Kirk is fine. Everyone is _fine_ and will continue doing so without you."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Chekov look up, baffled. It was abundantly clear that he did not understand Vulcan language, but was apt enough to understand her tone of voice.

Following her lead to ensure further confidentiality from Chekov, he responded in Vulcan as well.

"Then I feel that there is no need for this transmission to continue."

The silence following his words grated against both of them and he observed mutely as some of the agitation disappeared from her face. In place of annoyance, her features appeared to soften, though she still looked displeased.

"I'm sure you have plenty of things to tend to," she said quietly and detachedly. The distance between them seemed particular pronounced as her eyes dipped away from his, breaking their contact.

"Indeed. And you seem to be otherwise engaged in company," he answered in a much less implicating tone than before. She must have noticed the subtle change in his inflection and thankfully did not respond harshly.

He raised his hand to give the salute, but she had already ended the transmission.

* * *

"I think you need to teach me Vulcan language in addition to Andorian," Chekov mused quietly as she continued to sit in her chair by the monitor.

"I'm sorry, Chekov. I did not mean to exclude you," she sighed. With excessive effort, she lifted herself from the chair and sat beside him on the bed. "Speaking of Andorian, how is your translation coming along?"

For a quarter of an hour, the pair examined the foreign text on his PADD. Kirk had insisted that the crew members, aside from Uhura of course, needed to become familiar with the basics of the more common alien languages.

"To help strengthen our ties with other planets," he had claimed one evening. Sulu had protested, declaring that translator devices could be pinned to their shirts to help cultural understandings. Kirk agreed to such devices, but stated that if they show an obvious attempt to understand and appreciate a foreign culture, it might heighten the aliens' respect for them.

Regardless of Uhura's initial disbelief, Kirk had really matured and transformed to become a highly viable captain deserving such a fine ship as the _Enterprise_. She'd never tell him as such, his ego had never fully diminished, but she did refrain from rolling her eyes as often as she used to do in his presence.

In light of Kirk's command, Uhura had offered to help the other crew members with their translations and pronunciations. Within minutes of the offer, she found herself agreeing to help Chekov with his Andorian and McCoy with his Orion.

Chekov was proud of the Captain's plan and he found it to be most agreeable. Also, it provided him with even more chances to be one-on-one with Uhura. Many spare moments were spent learning and reviewing the basics of Andorian language in order to better understand and to impress Uhura simultaneously.

His translation had been moderately well done, consisting of only a few minor errors. They took part in a short conversation to test his aural and oral comprehension. As a more visual person, Chekov fared better with the written words rather than the spoken language. Though, despite his slight stuttering and long pauses, he managed to fumble his way through a conversation about the weather.

Uhura smiled warmly as she complimented his improvement from the other day and he felt himself glow with pride. Though the second she stopped speaking, the smile fell from her face and her expression seemed very aloof.

"Uhura? Is ewerything alright?" He questioned, scooting closer to her on the bed. When she did not answer, he took a guess at what plagued her mind. "He should not have contacted you."

He must have guessed correctly for she started shaking her head quickly.

"You're right, Chekov. He should have just left me alone. For all his comments about how illogical and emotional humans are, let it be said that he was the one who contacted me first."

Somewhere in the middle of her tangent, she had gotten off the bed. She rummaged in her tiny closet as she asked him to retrieve a spare pillowcase from the laundry room.

He agreed to do so and quickly left the room to comply to her request.

* * *

When Chekov returned with a red Starfleet-issued pillowcase in hand, he saw Uhura still kneeling by her closet. An odd arrangement of belongings lay piled in front of her. Among them lay a plain black textbook and old flowers.

The dead flowers were the first to disappear into the depth of the pillow case.

"I got those for our anniversary. Kirk spent forever trying to convince Spock that even though they were illogical, I would like them."

She peered into the makeshift bag for a moment before shrugging.

"I think Sulu arranged them though. They look like they came from his plants."

Without any grace, she threw in a few more reminders of her relationship with Spock, occasionally explaining the emotional background attached to an item. Chekov watched in vague wonder as her sharp movements continued. She appeared less angry than she had been after the transmission and instead seemed almost giddy as she tossed everything into the bag.

Finally, her actions halted as her delicate hands rested on top of the unmarked book. She opened it, flipping the pages under her thumb. Her expression faltered from her excited grin and was replaced with a gentler smile. Chekov felt pangs of jealousy and worry that perhaps she regretted her decision to rid her life of everything Spock had given her. It was a step in the wrong direction, he feared.

"Ah, Uhura," he almost gasped, gaining her attention. "Vhat is that?"

"Oh," she said in slight surprise looking down at the book. "Spock gave this to me for Christmas when I was his teaching assistant. It's about musical theory and it's written in Vulcan."

She continued to stare at the book for a moment with an indescribable expression etched into her beautiful features. She set it aside, away from the pillowcase and picked up something small and shiny that had also managed to escape her rampage.

"This is a Vulcan instrument called the _ralash-abralash_. It's like a harmonica from Earth culture. He gave this to me for my birthday, just before the Vulcan distress call at Starfleet."

Wrapping her plump lips around the end of it, she hummed and the instrument created a thin trilling noise. Chekov found himself smiling along with her in spite of his worry. Uhura placed the _ralash-abralash_ on top of the book gingerly.

"I should send these to him. Not much survived the implosion, so every original artifact should be cherished," she spoke quietly, glancing up at Chekov who nodded in understanding.

The worry left his body and he breathed a sigh of relief. As he relaxed his stance near Uhura, she stood up quickly with a bright smile on her face.

"Come on," she said nearly giggling. Her eyes sparkled with laughter and irrepressible excitement. Before he could ask what she meant, she walked past him with the pillowcase in hand.

* * *

The captain looked at them disparagingly with his arms crossed across his chest. He was much taller than either of them and Chekov felt the captain's height gave him an unfair advantage in the intimidation factor.

Uhura stood erect without backing down from Kirk's reproving stare. Less confident than Uhura, Chekov shuffled his feet and stared at the captain's shoulder instead.

"So," Kirk started slowly, "who wants to explain what happened?"

Undoubtedly looking like cats that just ate the canary, Uhura and Chekov exchanged looks. But before she could explain what they had done, the ensign began speaking.

"Ve vere getting food from the replicators. And as you know, the replicator food is awful. Dreadful, really," he started, utterly unsure where he was going with this lie. "And ve did not like it, obwiously, and ve could not find anyone else who vanted it."

Taking his lead, Uhura nodded beside him. He glanced in her direction and was relieved to see that her face did not express any surprise at his tale. To anyone else, she had to have looked as though what he was saying was the cold hard truth.

"And I decided that ve should beam it down to the nearest Starfleet post. As a sign that the food is absolutely miserable," he trailed off. He knew the story was utterly flawed and even a single-celled organism would know that he was lying. However, he also knew that Uhura would not want to explain the truth.

The truth was that they had beamed the filled pillowcase into space. Not a Starfleet post. Not even a planet. Just into space. It might be considered littering, but Chekov knew that as long as Romulans still existed, worse floated around in space anyway.

Chekov felt his eyes widen in surprise when the captain dropped his arms and shrugged with an impassive expression.

"Well, if that means that the Federation will get us space pirates some better food, then by all means… Feel free to beam down some of that godawful slurp they call chicken soup."

His face broke into a rogue smile and he winked at Uhura in a friendly fashion before continuing.

"Just let me know next time you want to use the transporter. I don't like hearing the warning call in the Bridge telling me that unauthorized personal are pressing buttons on my ship."

Uhura laughed and muttered something about Scotty having a conniption. Still grinning, Kirk told her to go ahead and take her position on the Bridge. He wanted to speak with Chekov about how he managed to use the transporter.

The men watched as Uhura walked away. Once she was out of earshot, Kirk faced Chekov with a knowing look in his eye.

"Okay, what really happened? And don't give me any of that 'food' bullshit."

Chekov felt cornered and very small under his commanding officer's piercing gaze.

"Ve vanted to get rid of a few things. In a dramatic fashion," he admitted, still not wanting to reveal Uhura's intentions.

"Dramatic? That wasn't dramatic," Kirk scoffed jokingly. "If you want dramatic, I'll have to give you some lessons." Then his face took a more serious expression when he spoke again. "Seriously though, what was it that she threw out?"

"Oh, it vas not her! I vanted to throw things out," Chekov tried to explain, but Kirk saw through his cover-up.

"Look, it's nice that you want to protect Uhura, but I need to know."

When Chekov still refused to speak, the captain sighed.

"I promise anything you tell me will remain confidential. If it's embarrassing for Uhura, I promise not to call her out on it. I won't even tell Bones." His finger crossed an X over his heart. "I can keep a secret if I really have to."

"Vell," Chekov started slowly, already assured that Kirk was sincere. "She vas getting rid of some old gifts from Mr. Spock."

"And she couldn't just throw them into a garbage compactor?" Kirk questioned, clearly not understanding the importance of beaming the pillowcase out into space.

"She vas liberating herself, sir," Chekov insisted defensively.

"Sounds hot," he answered as a huge grin grew on his face. His eyes got a playful and lecherous glint as he nodded to himself, clearly agreeing with whatever dirty thoughts were running through his active mind.

"Keptin," Chekov said reproachfully with narrowed eyes.

Kirk shook his head of the images and the satisfied grin relaxed a bit before he apologized.

"Just kidding, ensign. What gifts did she get rid of?" he asked curiously. "I need to know what a Vulcan deems as a logical gift."

"A few papers, just some odds and ends," Chekov answered vaguely, not wanting to reveal everything to Kirk. "Oh, and some old flowers."

"Wait," Kirk cut in indignantly, "I talked to Spock for an _hour_ before I finally convinced him that he needs to buy her flowers. And she just got rid of them?"

Chekov nodded with a grin. The captain looked as though his ice cream cone had just fallen to the ground. With a heavy sigh, Kirk shrugged his shoulders and motioned for Chekov to follow him to the Bridge. There was work to be done.

* * *

_Because who doesn't want a Russian in shining armor?_

_**NOTE**:_ Ralash-abralash_ is not a real Vulcan instrument. I created it. I named it using_ ralash-tanaf_, which means_ music_, and_ abralash_, which means_ treble_. (courtesy of the VLD: Vulcan Language Dictionary.)_

_Well, what did you think? I'm very curious to know. Please review! Also, I'm curious about what you guys think of the New Vulcan that I created. New Vulcan was one of the harder things to write and I'm very proud of what I have produced. I'm very interested to know what you all think of it._

_Thanks for reading!_


	6. Stupid Feelings

_So, nothing worked out with **St. Valentine**. Once again, I am on my own with this story. I endeavor to finish this before I go back to college, so hopefully the chapters will come much faster. I know I've said this a bunch of times before, but please have faith in me. In fact, chapter seven is almost finished and should be updated in a one or two days. I understand if you all are frustrated though. I'm sorry._

_I do hope you enjoy this chapter though. It's mostly filler, but there's character development and it's necessary for the rest of the story to flow well._

_**Note**:_ Italics _indicate memory. The memory takes place before the events of the movie, but after Chekov and Uhura have met._

_**Disclaimer**: Star Trek is not mine. If only, if only..._

* * *

_She was happy. She was absolutely radiant with joy. It beamed off of her as though she were the sun incarnate._

_As her friend, Chekov was of course happy that Uhura was happy, but was too curious to not wonder why she was so ecstatic. He noted over the past few days that her whole demeanor appeared uplifted. Her shoulders seemed less tense, her eyes less narrowed. Lately, her smiles spread across her face with ease instead of small, stressed, half-smiles. Though unsure of what had changed her attitude, he was nevertheless grateful for it._

_For several days, her happy mood continued to improve without any hint of what caused such a shift. Chekov noted with careful detail that she wore nicer earrings than her usual plain, amber stone ones. She often sported new ones, too, that she must have recently bought when out with her roommate. More often than not, she wore interlocking music notes that dangled from her ears, brushing against her neck. The sterling silver caught the sunlight and shone so brightly under his observing gaze._

_New earrings were not so uncommon. Chekov had sisters who constantly spent their allowance on bracelets and bangles. But then he noticed her nail polish never seemed chipped. He assumed she painted a fresh coat of liquid color every night to keep her polished fingers immaculate. And her make-up changed, too. He was not certain what she did, but something in her face seemed fresher. Lighter. Her eye make-up seemed more precise, more carefully applied. Hints of color on her eyelids appeared when before it had just been the deep chestnut of her skin._

_A boyfriend._

_The thought struck him so suddenly that it nearly jolted him from his seat. It explained everything, how could he have not seen it before? The new earrings, the make-up, the overall happiness. Everything._

_From that shocking moment, he made it his mission to find out who this new suitor was. He had to make sure that he didn't hurt his friend or make her upset because friends don't like to see friends hurt or upset. Yes. This was clearly an overly protective friendship feeling that he had. It was normal to want to rip the head off of a friend's new boyfriend, just to keep them safe._

_Their spare moments together were few and far between as each of their courses grew more difficult and demanded more of their personal attentions. Still, they made time to see each other occasionally and Chekov spent a decent portion of their time trying to persuade her to indulge him and answer his questions._

_"Who ees he?" Chekov asked in hushed tones as they studied together in the academy's library._

_Uhura looked up from her PADD to glance around her, looking to see whom Chekov was referring to. When she saw no one around them, she raised a single eyebrow at him, a new habit she had acquired, Chekov noticed dimly._

_"I told you before, I'm not telling you who he is," she answered in exasperated tones. With a very feminine huff, she went back to her PADD._

_"Who is he?" Chekov asked again in Swahili. He grinned with pride when she met him with surprised eyes._

_"You're going to ask me in different languages now? Do you really think this will work?"_

_"Who is he?" Chekov repeated, this time in Klingon._

_Uhura giggled quietly and told him his pronunciation was just awful. He felt his checks flush with color, but continued to ask her in Hebrew, Andorian, and two dialects of Romulan._

_He thought he saw her resolve soften when he asked in Vulcan, but she continued to keep her secret._

_"Who is he?" he asked in Orion. He watched as her eyes rolled amiably towards the ceiling and she met his gaze again with a self-assured smile._

_She rapidly answered him in Orion, a dialect he had never heard before. The soft clatter of her words tumbled from her lips and he found himself as enthralled as though she were a true, seductive Orion girl._

_His lips parted slightly as he listened to the gentle intonations hidden behind her teasing diction. Chekov felt fairly certain that she was telling him everything he wanted to know about her new boyfriend, but was unable to understand a bit of it._

_She stopped speaking Orion and with a mock concerned look on her face, she asked in Standard Federation, "Oh, I'm sorry. Did you not understand? I thought you learned to speak all these new languages."_

_Then she flashed him her sharp, witty smile that he had months before fallen in love with and he found himself blushing even harder than before._

_"I only learned the phrases," he admitted. She nodded her head knowingly and shifted slightly in her seat. She attempted to read from her PADD again, but he reached over and covered the screen with his slender fingers. He gave his best puppy dog eyes, the ones he knew she could not resist, and a smile graced both their faces._

_"You won't give up, will you?" she asked with a spark of laughter in her amber eyes._

_"Russians do not give up," he answered with national pride in his voice. "Who is it? I want to know his name. I want to make sure he's good for you." he asked in French._

_She cocked her head to the side, apparently confused by his translation. Internally, he cursed himself. He hated the French language. They use ten letters for a word and only pronounce four of them. What was the sense in that? And his apparently thick Russian accent (He couldn't hear it. He only knew he had one by everyone complaining about it.) might have butchered their own pronunciation._

_She reached over to grab his own PADD and typed in what he had apparently said to her. She instructed him to look up what it meant and asked him where he had gotten it._

_"Doctor McCoy. I enlisted his help in trying to find out who your boyfriend is. Apparently he studied French back in high school," he responded, trying to sound playful and joking instead of angered and torn. He wondered if his attempts were in vain._

_Another smile blossomed across Uhura's thin face and she shook her head as though she should have known._

_Curious about her expression, Chekov referred back to his pad. A few clicks later, he entered the French into a translator and gaped at the words that appeared._

This isn't my business. I should leave you alone. I'm sorry_ was typed neatly on the bright screen._

_Uhura smirked at his flustered expression and settled down comfortably in her seat._

_"Truer words were never mistakenly spoken," she added quietly as he scowled. Stupid doctor. Stupid unnamed, unknown boyfriend. Stupid feelings._

* * *

In the event that aliens or humans were picked up in space to be healed or taken to another location for safety, spare quarters were located away from the rest of the regular chaos on the ship. Period maintenance and cleaning were performed, but otherwise the section was empty.

Chekov and Uhura took advantage of the solitude whenever they shared an hour or two together. They always brought their PADDs with the intention of Uhura continuing to teach Chekov his basic Andorian. But minutes within their meetings, the PADDs were forgotten as they sat on the cold tiles to stare out the wide window at the vast space surrounding them. Some days were spent in near silence as they sleepily spoke of how tiring their work was. Some days were spent excitedly talking about the last planet a landing crew had explored.

Today was one of their calmer days with a languid ease about them. They sat with their backs slumped against the wall behind them. Uhura leaned into his side, one of her legs draped over his extended ones.

His eyes appreciatively followed the gently curved line of her leg before it disappeared under the soft crimson material. She sighed and slumped down further so that her head rested against the lean muscle of his upper arm.

"When we go back to Earth in a few years, where are you going first?" She asked in Andorian. Uhura twisted her neck slightly to catch his expression out of the corner of her eye.

It took him a few moments, but he managed to answer in the foreign tongue. His success was met with a pleasant smile and a subtle shift as she looked towards the window again.

"I wish to go Russia. I miss my mother," he spoke slowly in clipped tones. It was a much more difficult language than he was used to. It had more of a flow than English or Russian and he was unaccustomed to the continuity of the sounds.

Uhura hummed in agreement and Chekov felt a tiny shiver run down his spine as her hum vibrated through him. If she wondered why he shivered, she did not comment on it. Instead, she switched back to English as she carried on their conversation.

"Do you remember _Ricardo's _restaurant near the academy?"

"Da," Chekov nodded. He felt his eyelids droop with sleepiness. The _Enterprise_ whirred around them, reverberating with energy and mechanics against their uniformed bodies. Between that and her low voice, he was lulled into a stupor desperately needed after long hours on the Bridge.

"Even before I go home to visit my family, I'd want to go there. They made those kickass personal pizzas, remember?" Her tone drawled and he chuckled to himself. She sounded as tired as he felt.

"Da, they were amazing pizzas," he agreed. She snuggled closer against him as she threaded her arm through his and clutched it like a teddy bear.

"Will you go with me to _Ricardo's_ when we get home? Even before you go back to Russia?" Uhura had twisted her neck again to peer into his eyes.

Too sleepy to catch himself, he brought a hand up to cup her cheek gently. He brushed his thumb lightly under her eye as he nodded. A small, lethargic grin appeared before she turned once more to face the window. Chekov let his fingers brush across her skin as he pulled his hand away.

Still lightly gripping his arm, Uhura traced her palm along his golden sleeve before interweaving her fingers through his.

He stared at their laced fingers as his heart began to beat wildly. The sudden rush of blood through his body and the sheer excitement that soared through erased much of his sleepiness. His body felt stiff and he was too terrified to move for fear that she would misinterpret any movements as a desire for her to let go.

After a few shell-shocked seconds, his heart calmed down marginally. As she rubbed her thumb in little circles along the back of his hand, he relaxed in spite of himself.

"I used to love holding hands," she revealed quietly. He glanced down at her sharp cheekbones and felt a surge of fondness towards her. "But Spock and I never held hands that often. Vulcan hands are much more sensitive to touch. Vulcan skin in general, actually."

She spoke conversationally, but Chekov understood this was a secret that she had not been able to talk about in the past few years of being with Spock.

"Plus Vulcans are so much warmer than humans. Their average body temperature is one-hundred-four degrees. Holding hands with him made her sweat."

Despite his best efforts, Chekov could not hold back his laughter. Something in the way she had wrinkled her nose when she said "sweat" was just too adorable. She joined him in his quiet laughter and squeezed his hand.

"I like holding hands with you better," she told him. He could feel her grinning against the side of his arm.

"I like it, too," he agreed. Cold spiked within his stomach and he felt his heart flutter animatedly as he debated taking advantage of their moment together and telling her how he felt for her. Before he could open his mouth, she began to speak again.

"God, I'm so tired," she yawned and settled further into him. "I have a date tonight with Ensign Neuert and I don't want to fall asleep in the middle of it."

"A date?" he tried to ask casually as bitterness filled him.

"Yes, eating dinner together tonight," she answered as her eyes slid shut and her breathing slowed.

"How nice."

She hummed, clearly too tired to hear his barely concealed sarcasm.

"Can you wake me up in half an hour?" she asked sleepily without opening her eyes. "I need to take a little catnap."

Chekov sighed and agreed. Despite feeling upset over her date, he felt contentment and warmth spread through him as she snuggled up to his body. A few minutes later, she had fallen into a light sleep and her still body fluttered occasionally with a breathy sigh. Confident that she was entirely asleep, he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

* * *

"I don't trust him," Chekov announced as he walked into the conservatory. Sulu barely looked away from the yellow and green plant in front of him.

"Good evening to you, too, Chekov," he responded sarcastically.

Chekov gave him a scathing look as he slumped into the chair next to his friend. Sulu took no notice of the glare and continued examining the oddly patterned leaves.

"Vhat is this?" Chekov asked abruptly, jerking his thumb at the plant. It looked a bit like a spiderplant, but the colors were much more vivid and created an intricate, repetitive pattern along its tapered leaves. A sheen of shiny hair covered the underside of the leaves.

"Not sure," Sulu shrugged. The two men continued to watch the plant as it sat immobile in its tiny pot. Sulu scrawled a few notes onto the tablet beside him as he made his observations. "Who don't you trust?"

"Ensign Neuert," Chekov muttered. He folded his arms onto the table and lowered his head down to rest his chin.

"Charles Neuert? From engineering?" Sulu asked, perplexed.

"I guess so," he conceded with his scowl back in place. "He's on a date vith Uhura right now."

The confusion vanished from Sulu's face and an understanding look replaced it. Chekov had never explicitly told Sulu his feelings for Uhura, but he imagined they were fairly apparent. Only Uhura seemed blind to his affection.

"Sorry, man," he said sympathetically.

Without moving his head, Chekov shrugged his shoulders. Without another word, Sulu turned his attentions back to the plant. Chekov watched with disinterested eyes as his friend took a single leaf within his long fingers. He tore off a piece of the leaf and a sickly sweet smell wafted into their nose.

"Think it'll taste good?" Sulu asked lightheartedly, waving the leaf in front of the younger man's face. Chekov moved back in disgust.

"Gross, Sulu. Just gross," he reprimanded. Sulu rolled his eyes before they both started chuckling.

"I'll have to check its serum to see if it has any medical properties," he decided once their laughter subsided. He bustled over to the computers to run scans. Glancing back at Chekov, he saw that the momentary laughter had not done enough to cheer him out of his romantic funk.

Sulu frowned to himself. He left the scanner to do its work and sat back down next to his dejected friend. Clapping a hand onto Chekov's slender shoulder, he gave him a commiserating smile.

"Maybe you should just tell her," he advised quietly. With a final squeeze on the shoulder, he pulled away to head back to the scanner.

Chekov lowered his hands back onto his arms as he stared blankly at the engineer. Stupid date. Stupid feelings.

* * *

_Not too much happened in this chapter, but just wait until chapter seven... :D It's already halfway written, so I should be updating soon._

_Well, what did you think? I'm very curious to know. Please review! __Thanks for reading!_


	7. Scotty's Okay

_Updated quickly! Just like I promised! Chapter eight is in the works as we speak. However, I will not be able to update until Monday because I am going to my grandmother's house this weekend and there's absolutely no internet there. I probably won't even bring my laptop with me because I only see my Grandma Sweetie twice a year and I want to spend my limited time with her, not on the computer. I hope you all understand. So bottom line, I won't be updating or even review replying until sometime on Monday. Sorry._

_Oh, that random bolded sentence in the previous chapter? Yeah, I removed that. Sorry. :( My sister read the chapter before I posted it and she wrote that in. I didn't check through my writing before posting and thus it slipped past me. But it's gone now. Sorry about that._

_But_ _this_ _chapter is here and I am happy to say that it is_ much _better than the previous chapter. I even tried my hand at an action scene. I write romance, angst, humor, family/friendship, character analysis, academic, all of that. I write it like it's nobody's business, but I have not written much action in a long time. Please let me know how it was. :)_

_**Disclaimer**: I have much creativity, but not even in my wildest dreams do I own Star Trek._

* * *

"Dammit," Kirk swore loudly as another blast exploded against the rocky wall above them. "Just once, just _once_ I want a mission to go right!"

Chekov covered his head with his arms in a meek attempt to protect his skull from falling debris. As soon as the smoke and dust cleared enough for him to see, he started firing his phaser at the Omicrons.

It was supposed to be a routine visit. Captain Kirk beamed down with Chekov, Sulu, and Scotty to establish contact with the inhabitants of Omicron Delta. They offered them a chance to join the Federation but were met with strong resistance. The Omicrons were much physically stronger than humans and were not hesitant to begin firing weapons.

The landing party had rushed out of the negotiations room and the fighting continued through the halls and out into the open. Kirk had forced the rest of them to leave ahead of him as he fired back through the worst of it. Chekov wanted to stay back and help his captain, but Kirk bodily shoved him out of the room.

Once they raced outside, they were immediately met with more Omicrons who had arrived after the alarm sounded. Phasers set to stun fired in all directions as they fought their way through what seemed like a clear path.

All delusions of clear paths vanished from their minds as they reached a dead end. The Omicrons continued to fire their own phaser-like weapons. Though their numbers were diminished as the _Enterprise_ crew managed to hit many of their targets, they still outnumbered the crew three to one.

"Chekov!" Kirk yelled without pausing in his rebuttal. "Cover Sulu!"

Without question, Chekov ran in front of the helmsman and continued to fire at a few more Omicrons. Several of them fell, stunned and unable to get back up. Though there were more of them, their technology was severely lacking the same power and sophistication as the Federation's. Aside from tiny cuts and bruises from falling debris and a small gash on Kirk's arm, everyone was fine as far as Chekov could tell.

"Sulu! I lost my communicator in the building! We need to be beamed up! NOW!" Kirk ordered as another blast exploded between himself and Chekov. The force of the blow nearly knocked Chekov over, but he balanced and steadied himself against the sting of tiny rocks shot out from the stone wall.

Kneeling behind Chekov, Sulu pulled his communicator from his pocket.

"Beam us up, _Enterprise_!" he yelled anxiously before shoving the communicator back into his pocket.

"YEOW!" Scotty's yelp ripped across the smoke-filled air. He fell hard against the ground and Sulu ran from his position behind Chekov to guard the engineer.

One of the Omicrons had success in their firing and had hit Scotty square in the leg. Chekov could not even look at his fallen friend but had to continue firing. Seconds later, he felt the familiar tingle in his body and knew his atoms were slowly vaporizing, only to reform themselves back on the Enterprise. The final sound he heard was the collective, angered cry from all the Omicrons as their victims transported away.

As suddenly as it had started, the tingling feeling disappeared and his eyes no longer looked out on enemies but rather the cool blue walls of the transporter room.

The room was silent save for heavy breathing while the transported crew blinked the residual smoke from their eyes. Then a moment later, Kirk bounded from his pad over to Scotty, who was lying on the transporter, clutching his leg. Chekov watched in rapt horror as the blood gushed from his leg, spreading sickly over the metal of the floor.

The ensign behind the controls had already called Sick Bay and Chekov could hear the gurney wheels squeaking in the hallway. McCoy entered seconds later in a controlled rage as he and Kirk lifted Scotty onto the gurney.

"Everyone, follow me!" the doctor barked as he and his nurse started wheeling a grimace-faced Scotty out of the transporter room to Sick Bay.

"What the hell happened, Jim?" the doctor asked as they wheeled down the hallway.

"Well, Bones, they didn't seem to want to join the Federation. Didn't take too long to start firing. Thank God their weapons weren't that good, otherwise we'd be in a hell of a lot worse shape," he answered the scowling man.

No more words spoke between them until they were all gathered in Sick Bay. McCoy immediately started examining Scotty with Head Nurse Chapel. Nurses Genoese and Lee flanked the others as soon as they entered the door and began checking them for any serious injuries. Nurse Genoese pulled the captain away to fix the gash in his arm, but Sulu and Chekov were cleared.

Nurse Lee gave them each some salve to smear onto their hands and faces which had endured minor damage from the debris. After the initial sting, the salve soothed the tiny cuts that littered their battered skin. At the nurses' orders, Chekov and Sulu sat in the chairs outside of Sick Bay in order to give McCoy and his nurses room to do their jobs.

Though no longer breathing heavily, Chekov's heart continued to race. He leaned back against the wall while Sulu fell into one of the waiting room's chairs. Chekov felt too restless to join his friend and tried to focus on calming his heart.

"So," Sulu's voice sounded rough and Chekov glanced over worriedly at the helmsman. "That was pretty fun."

He stared at him for a moment before the adrenaline overpowered both of them and they were clutching their sides, doubled over with laughter.

* * *

"Beam us up, _Enterprise_!"

Sulu's voice yelled in her ear as Uhura sat at her station on the Bridge.

"YEOW!"

A pained scream followed his cry before the transmission was cut off. Without pausing, she alerted the transporter room immediately. They were supposed to receive distress calls as well, but technology was known to be flawed and she did not want to take any chances.

Once she had confirmation that the message had been received, she released the breath she hadn't even known she had been holding. That yelp sounded too much like Chekov. Fear gripped her heart and froze her insides as she sat horribly still in her chair. The seconds dragged on until she received a frequency that the crew had been transported back to the _Enterprise_. As communications officer, she overheard all messages transmitted from anywhere on the Bridge. Ensign Franco from the transporter room hailed McCoy from Sick Bay and a wave of fear washed over her once again.

She told the new Science Officer, Ruiz, to man her station while she checked on the landing crew. Barely waiting for the affirmative nod, Uhura briskly walked to the turbolift.

The doors could not open quickly enough and she was nearly running as she headed towards Sick Bay. She entered the wing just before the entrance and immediately saw Kirk exiting shirtless with a bandage on his arm and his gold shirt blood-stained and draped around his shoulders.

"Uhura!" he greeted in surprise. "Why aren't you on the bridge?"

"Chekov! How is he? I heard him get hurt when Sulu called up-"

"Woah, wait," Kirk said, holding his hands up. He gripped her shoulders and forced her to calm down and stop speaking so quickly. "Who told you Chekov was hurt?"

"I _told_ you, I heard it through the transmission," she stressed. She strained half-heartedly against his strong stance, but he held her firmly in place.

"You misunderstood. Chekov is fine. Scotty was hit by some phaser-like thing, but he's fine. There was a deep wound, but it wasn't anything Bones couldn't patch up," he said with a note of pride in his calming voice.

"He's fine?" she said breathlessly, relaxing within his vice-like grip.

"Yeah, Scotty's fine," he reassured her and let his hands slip from her shoulders, apparently confident that she wouldn't run past him. A glimpse of something flashed across his face and he added, "Unless you were talking about Chekov."

"Shut up, Kirk," she muttered. She looked away, embarrassed that he had caught her. For some reason unfathomable to her, she felt guilty for being caught.

Kirk chuckled to himself, clearly enjoying her humiliated state. She glared at him as he gave her what he obviously thought was a smoldering stare.

"So, do I look even more badass than usual?" Kirk spoke in a low voice. He flexed his uninjured arm and Uhura stared at him with a deadpan expression.

"You're incorrigible," Uhura deadpanned.

"No, you see, the word you're looking for is _incredible_," he stressed with a cocky smirk. "I can understand how you would be confused. They're very close to each other in the dictionary."

He gave his most understanding nod and she resisted the temptation to smack him. With a final wink, he walked away with a definite swagger in his step. She waited until he had turned the corner to grin broadly at his antics.

Shaking her head amusedly, she took a few steps towards the Sick Bay before stopping once more.

Scotty was her friend. They ate together fairly often. She spent time with him in engineering occasionally, handing him various tools. He stood by her on the Bridge and regaled her with amusing stories from Scotland. She highly enjoyed his company.

So why had she been more relieved to know that Chekov was unharmed instead of Scotty? The relief she had felt upon Kirk's promise that Chekov was fine had been as intense as the fear that gripped her when she first thought he was injured.

She stood there, wondering. Uhura felt as though she were on the edge of something very important, something that had snuck up on her from a long time coming.

* * *

The laughter subsided when Captain Kirk entered the waiting room. Sobering up quickly, Chekov and Sulu stared at him with concerned and questioning eyes. Kirk looked at both of them for a moment before his face relaxed into a weary smile.

"Scotty's gonna be just fine," he announced to their relief. All three men felt a weight lift off their shoulders. Chekov could tell Kirk was thrilled to be the bearer of such good news. "It's a pretty bad wound, but between Scotty's resistance and Bones's talent, he'll heal up fine."

A dopey smile appeared on Sulu's face and he stretched out his legs comfortably in the seat with his arms folded behind his back.

"You two are alright?" Kirk asked, his voice all at once commanding and concerned. He glanced between the two men.

Sulu nodded and Chekov replied, "Yes, keptin, ve are fine. And you? How is your arm?" He gestured to the bandaged bicep.

"Fine, fine," he waved off the ensign's concern. "Don't worry about it." He headed over towards the exit before turning around to face both of them again.

"Yes, keptin?"

"Good job down there today. Listening to orders. You performed exceptionally."

Chekov felt himself swell with pride as he met the captain's study gaze with an unwavering stare. The corners of Kirk's mouth turned upwards in a brief smile, and with a final nod, he left through the sliding doors.

Silence filled the presence the captain had left behind and Chekov turned in his spot to face Sulu. Mirrored on the helmsman's face was a solemnly proud expression. They took a moment to bask in their pride in a job well done, in the happiness that Scotty would be fine.

Before either of them could speak, they heard a high, almost shrill voice outside the Sick Bay. A deeper voice that Chekov recognized as Kirk's answered the person he was sure had to be a woman. She responded in turn and Chekov realized with surprise that it was Uhura speaking.

He moved closer to the door to listen to what she had to say. She sounded distressed and he wondered if anything else had gone wrong today.

"You misunderstood. Chekov is fine," the captain said. Chekov wondered why his name was mentioned. Had she thought he was hurt? He listened as Kirk comforted Uhura on Scotty's wellbeing.

"He's fine?" Uhura spoke quietly in a strange mix of incredulity and happiness, and Chekov had to strain his ears to listen.

"Yeah, Scotty's fine," Kirk promised. Then his tone shifted from reassuring to playful. "Unless you were talking about Chekov."

Uhura's comment was too quiet to be deciphered, but Chekov stood disbelieving by the door. Why was she there? She was supposed to be on the Bridge. Her shift wasn't over until much later that night.

The shrill voice he had heard earlier, that had been her. That worried tone had been because she thought he, Chekov, was hurt. Had she left the Bridge to check on him?

Questions and confusion swirled in his head as he wondered if he was right in his assumptions. And if he was right, what would that mean? He wanted more than anything to believe that this meant she cared for him as he cared for her. But was he too hopeful? Did she only care because they were friends?

Kirk's voice could no longer be heard, nor Uhura's. There was no sound of footsteps and Chekov assumed that they had both walked away to the Bridge or their quarters.

He turned around to face Sulu with an incredulous look on his face. Sulu's gleeful expression was infectious and soon Chekov grinned brightly as well.

"Go for it," Sulu encouraged, waving Chekov off.

Without another word, Chekov walked through the sliding doors. Expecting the hallway to be empty, he was surprised to see Uhura standing off to the side with an unsure expression on her face.

"Uhura?" he asked gently, careful not to disturb her from what seemed to be very troubling thoughts. At the sound of his voice, she looked up with her face clear of any internal confusion.

"Oh, Chekov," she started hesitantly, "I heard there was an accident and I wanted to make sure everyone was alright."

"Bull," Chekov stated bluntly.

Her eyes widened and then suddenly narrowed. Before she could ask what he meant, he took a few strides towards her until he stood directly in front of her.

"I call bull," he repeated. "I vas in the vaiting room. I heard vhat you said to the keptin."

The muscles around her eyes softened as he spoke. Instead of denying or turning her words around, she said nothing and just stood before him. She blinked once, twice, her eyes like amber liquid in their perfect almond shape.

The air itself seemed to move around them, swirling invisibly as the distance between them lessened. His eyes slid shut just instants before his lips captured hers. On instinct, his hands raised to grip her arms tightly. Electricity charged from his inner core and surged through his fingers. She wrapped her arms around his waist and he pulled her tighter against him in response. His tongue slid against hers as her mouth twisted under his touch.

Then as suddenly as it started, they broke apart. They stared wordlessly at each other, staring into each other's eyes. Chekov did not even dare to blink, terrified that she would disappear if he let her out of his sight for even a moment. In the back of his mind, he dimly registered that he could not feel anything below his navel. He seemed to floating rather than standing.

He watched with enthralled eyes as Uhura licked her lips and swallowed. He followed the path of her pink tongue before it disappeared behind her swollen lips. Her arms gently pulled away and fell slowly to her sides. Chekov released his grasp on her arms and tried to hold her hands.

Deftly, she avoided his pale hands and brushed one of her own against his cheek. He winced slightly as her fingers gently trailed along the tiny cuts.

"You should rest. It was a dangerous mission," she whispered in a throaty voice. Her fingers lingered as they moved softly across his lips before pulling away once more.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Chekov to stand alone in the hallway. He watched her retreating form as she turned the corner towards the Bridge. How long he stood there, he did not know.

Rooted to the spot, his elation and disappointment battled within him until he could feel his legs again. Then Chekov began the long walk back to his quarters to rest like she had told him. The whole time, he tried to convince himself that such events really had transpired. This was not a dream.

The kiss, her hand, her words, her fingers on her lips. Her skin, her touch, her scent, her taste. The sensations ran through his mind on an endless film strip for the rest of the night.

* * *

_Yay! They kissed! lol Is good, yes? Please review and let me know what you think! A big thank you to everyone who has been reading, reviewing, enjoying, and/or lurking this whole time. Thank you all so much. :)_


	8. Care for You

_I have returned from Grandma Sweetie's house! I love her and I love visiting her, but it's a six hour car ride (Mind you, six hours without traffic.). Gah. I'm so very happy to be home and not in the car anymore. To commemorate such happiness, I am updating!_

_So, I was feeling rather research-happy (Which really isn't that uncommon for me. I'm the nerd who loves research.). In this chapter are a quick study of Vulcan language (paraphrased from memoryalphadotorg) and a brief history lesson from WWII. Which I remember solely from the American Girl books. (Best book series ever for children, especially girls, to read. Anyone with kids, I suggest that you have your daughters read those.) Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it. If there are any glaring errors in my history lessons (or really, in anything at all), don't hesitate to tell me. I'll make sure to fix anything I messed up on._

_**Note**: The flashback takes place after the prologue but before the events of the movie. I'd say it takes place a little less than a year before the Battle of Vulcan._

_**Disclaimer**: When do I get to stop writing these? lol They depress me. I don't own Star Trek. I do own Anthony Delby though! I made him up! He is mine!_

* * *

Not unlike many other xenolanguages, Vulcan written language is complied of several different forms, and some, but not all, combine with each other to create an assortment of dialects and variations.

The primary version is reminiscent of terrestrial musical notes and is written similar to Chinese languages: vertical columns, runs top-to-bottom. However, unlike the Chinese languages, the symbols read left-to-right. This primary Vulcan script consists of a central staff from which spirals, dashes of varying lengths and dots are composed.

As is common in many cultures, Vulcan language has certainly changed and altered since its origins in ancient times. The Vulcans once used a more intricate and complex version of the musical inscriptions. This version can be found scripted in the _Kir'Shara_ as well as engraved on the walls of _P'Jem_.

A secondary writing system appears more simplistic in juxtaposition to the complex physical and chemical make-up of the Vulcan species. Such writing system consists of squiggles, spirals, and dots. Each can be used separately or combined with the primary script mentioned above. Also written vertically, a series of such symbols commonly appears on many articles of Vulcan garments.

A third cuneiform-like script appears on Vulcan starship hulls and in some Vulcan homes and temples. It has been suggested that-

_Uhura's concentration was broken at the sound of her communicator vibrating persistently. Faintly annoyed to be drawn away from her intriguing textbook, she glanced at the shaking communicator. When she did not recognize the caller's frequency, her frustrations doubled._

_She snapped it opened and tried to filter the annoyance out of her voice. It would be her undoing if a professor or someone of equal importance contacted her and she responded rudely._

"_Hello?" she answered with forced politeness._

"_Uhura?" came a deep, harried voice that did not sound at all familiar to her._

"_This is she. May I ask who is calling?" she asked, placing a slip of paper between the pages of her text to mark her place. Something told her she would not be returning to her studying any time soon._

"_This is Anthony Delby," the disembodied voice responded._

_Uhura frowned to herself. The name was not ringing any bells, nor could she place a face to the name._

"_I'm a friend of Pavel Chekov's," the young man added quickly._

_An image swam in her mind of a burly man in his early twenties with dark hair from the engineering track. Chekov had mentioned him several times as being someone from his level four astrophysics calls. Uhura was fairly certain he was on the track team with Chekov as well._

"_Oh, right," she answered slowly. Her original annoyance crept back into her voice. "Well, I was kind of busy before you called, so if you have a reason for calling me other than to breathe in my ear, now would be the time to tell me."_

_Obviously taken aback, Anthony cleared his throat on the other end of the connection before continuing._

"_Sorry to bother you, but Chekov had a bit too much to drink here at the bar. I asked him who his roommate was so I could contact him, but he insisted that I should call you instead," he explained somewhat sheepishly._

"_Wait, he's drunk?!" Uhura nearly screamed into the communicator as she immediately stood up from her desk._

"_Well, yeah. That's why I'm calling," he tried to explain before Uhura cut him off._

"_You do know he's underage, right?" She chided angrily as she sat on her bed to zip her boots onto her legs._

"_I know that," Anthony stressed in a tone that made her want to smack him, "but he totally kicked ass today on a test we had in astrophysics. We and a few others went out for celebratory drinks."_

_Uhura shook her head at the idiocy of it all and asked which bar they were at._

"_Nipper's Pub," he answered._

"_I'll be there in ten minutes," she promised before ending their connection. With a final, wistful look at her now abandoned textbook, she shut and locked her dorm room door behind her._

_A rant of insults and indignant frustrations raced through her exasperated mind as she briskly walked the few blocks it took to go from Starfleet Academy to the pub. It was a Friday night and she passed several classmates on her way there._

_Gaila stood outside one of the flashier clubs, glued to Jim Kirk's lips. Uhura avoided her roommate's line of vision. She really did not need to deal with either of them right now, especially Kirk. McCoy stood with them, a particularly deep scowl decorating his otherwise handsome face as he watched his friend swallow the Orion's tongue._

_Uhura felt a flash of sympathy for the doctor, but did not hesitate in her pace._

_Minutes later, she entered through the thick wooden doors of Nipper's Pub and was met with a darkened atmosphere that smelled of cheap booze and heavy pasta sauce. She stood at the doorway for a moment, scanning the room for Chekov or Anthony Delby._

_A waving hand caught her attention and she saw a small table of boys off to the side. With a roll of her eyes, she headed towards them._

"_Uhura!"_

_Uhura winced. Alcohol had severally thickened Chekov's accent even more so than usual. It was a wonder that his friends had understood him well enough to know to call her. She glanced around the table and saw that nothing the boys were drinking seemed particularly strong. Just some beer and maybe a glass of whiskey. Apparently Chekov was either overly excited at the prospect of underage drinking or he was a bit of a lightweight._

"_Hello, Chekov," she greeted, walking around the table to rest her hands on his shoulders. "Let's go home, okay?"_

_He nodded sloppily and stumbled while getting out of the chair. She helped support him until he could stand on his feet on his own, albeit swaying slightly._

"_I can't believe you guys did this," she reprimanded half-heartedly at the remaining cadets around the table. She was somewhat sated to see that they at least had the nerve to appear slightly shamed._

_A chorus of "sorry" sounded around the table as Uhura coaxed Chekov to pay for his share of the tab._

"_Ah, don't worry about it," Anthony insisted. "It's the least we could do."_

"_Yeah, the least," she replied sarcastically. With another roll of her eyes, she guided Chekov to the exit while he chatted loudly about how he had passed his exam._

_She steered him to an alternate route that would assuredly not take them past the club where she had seen Gaila, Kirk, and McCoy. She might have avoided them the first time, but she had a feeling she would not be as lucky this time around. Chekov had begun to drunkenly sing Russian ballads and several people on the sidewalks were giving them odd stares._

_Despite her irritation, she could not help but smile as Chekov began his poor rendition of a tale detailing the life of Ogden the one-eyed sailor. His warbling voice had quieted some since they first left Nipper's and she could find it more amusing than aggravating._

_She convinced him to quiet down even more when they actually arrived back on campus. The likelihood of running into a professor or administrator at this late hour was slim to none, but Uhura did not want to take any risks and have Chekov end up in trouble for underage drinking._

"_I eem sorree, Uhura," Chekov slurred as he dragged his feet along the hallway of the boy's dormitory. "I shoul'nt hawve bean dreenking."_

_If she had not been a xenolinguistics aficionado, she would have been at a complete loss as to what he had said. After a few seconds of translation, she understood what he meant._

"_It's okay, Chekov. It must be hard for you to be underage around everyone else here who's old enough to drink," she consented, feeling the first pang of empathy for her young friend._

"_Da," he nodded emphatically before lapsing into silence._

_They quickly arrived at his door despite his slow steps. Chekov fumbled with the entrance code before Uhura finally took over and pressed in the numbers as he revealed them to her. The door slid open and she ushered him into his quarters._

"_Alright, Chek, it's time for me to go. Drink water and take some aspirin before you go to sleep. Either way, you'll have a killer headache tomorrow," she said with a sympathetic smirk._

_He nodded and tripped over towards her. Instinctively, she raised her arms to help steady his balance._

"_I reeallee eem sorree, Uhura." He stared unfocusedly into her eyes and she saw a sincere note of regret in his eyes. "Joo are too good to me."_

_She pressed the back of her hand against his cheek for a second and was surprised to feel slight stubble._

"_It's alright. Just don't make this a habit," she half threatened, but ruined the effect with a smile._

_Chekov met her smile with one of his own and his boyish face glowed with admiration. Uhura pulled her hand away, but Chekov caught it within his own with surprising swiftness despite his inebriation. _

_Before she could question what he was doing, Chekov pulled her to him and placed his warm lips onto hers in a rather sloppy kiss. Uhura stood in shock for a few moments before her sense took over and she pushed him away._

_He gave her a wounded puppy eyes when she held him at arm's length._

"_I'm flattered, really, I am," she told him sincerely. "But I know it's just the alcohol talking," she said. Uhura knew he was too drunk to remember this moment and felt only a little guilt in turning him down. Chekov opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it and shut his mouth._

"_Sorree again," he muttered. He did not wait for her response before he shut the door in her face._

* * *

"During Earth's World War II, many Americans planted gardens in their yards. This provided them with vegetables and other herbs necessary for consumption instead of requiring them to purchase such foods from markets. The tin used to make canisters could be spared for the soldiers."

Spock sat with his father at their small table in the designated eating area of their limited quarters. The salads sat in front of them, slowly disappearing from the bowls as the two males ate. Sarek did not look away from his food as he chewed and Spock knew his father did not care to hear about the history.

Despite this knowledge, he found himself unable to stop speaking.

"They were called Victory Gardens. Somewhat illogical, of course, as there was no victory until 1945, but the name was meant to inspire," he finished solemnly. Once more, his eyes flickered towards his father's impassive form. An irritating sensation occurred behind his navel that reminded him of when he was younger and attempted to tell his father of what he had learned while in the educational pods.

Though Amanda had indulged his interests and asked him follow-up questions about his observations, Sarek had never responded as Spock often hoped he would. Indicated by his father's current unresponsiveness, Spock could only conclude that his father's behavior had not altered over the years.

Sarek drew a deep breath and Spock repressed his urge to wince under his inexpressive face. Often after he summarized his studies, young Spock had been subjected to a lecture of how education was meant to educate only himself. According to Sarek, there was no logical point in explaining things to superiors as it was understood that they already knew such matters. Sarek had undergone the same intensive educational track and therefore knew everything and more than Spock understood. Sitting in their small dining area in New Vulcan, Spock could not help but be reminded of those evenings during his childhood.

However, Sarek did not respond in a manner Spock had grown accustomed to during his youth.

"It is an interesting aspect of such a culture that the very name of something could alter the emotional response from human beings," he began slowly. Spock watched as his father washed down the leafy salad with a sip of water.

"Indeed," Spock answered. The uncomfortable atmosphere that surrounded father and son stiffened and became palpable and Spock wondered if he was alone in missing Amanda in moments such as these. She had always had talent for diverting awkward situations with a blasé story regarding her own observations of the day. Before he had sufficiently learned to lock away his emotions, her tales had often elicited a smile or occasionally laughter from her small son.

"Spock, do you often speak of such human-related facts when constructing the cities?" his father questioned with a piercing look in his dark eyes.

"Occasionally, yes. I do share such information with my companions on the construction sites," Spock relented, unsure of why Sarek asked.

His curiosity would remain unsatisfied as Sarek seemed disinclined to continue his questions. The rest of their meal continued in thick silence. For reasons unknown, the silence cultivated within his mind an innumerable amount of terrain references. He elaborated on none of them.

* * *

When she did not speak to him the day after the kiss, he did not blame her. It was undoubtedly awkward for both of them. Chekov was under the impression that Uhura was not sure of her feelings for him when he kissed her. He could only hope that she was not under the impression that he had assaulted her. Though unsure of such protocol, he doubted that the outcome would be pleasant for him if she decided to report his actions.

Their shifts coincided with each other's and much of their day was spent in close proximity to each other. Despite their limited distance, no conversation was held between them. The only words spoken between them were born of necessity, focusing on the work on hand.

Her shift ended before his and she left without even so much as glancing in his direction.

* * *

The next day, he did assume that she would attempt some conversation with him. She gave him a few glances while reporting the frequencies she hailed to the captain.

His shift ended in the afternoon and even though he looked for her in the dinner hall, she was nowhere to be seen. Scotty later informed him that she had left the bridge and immediately went to her quarters. Apparently, she suffered from a slight stomachache. Rather than visit McCoy, she decided to skip dinner and rest instead.

It wasn't until he finished his dinner with Scotty and Sulu and returned to his quarters to make his reports that he realized it was Wednesday. For the first Wednesday in as long as he could remember, he had not shared his dinner with Uhura.

Chekov debated over whether or not he should visit her quarters that night. In the end, he just went to sleep early and revisited the thousand memories he had of Uhura, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong.

* * *

On Thursday, Chekov's shift ended at approximately 1800 hours along with Sulu's. Sulu finished his final coordinates before relinquishing his station to his replacement while he went on his dinner break. He looked expectantly at Chekov who waved him away.

"I hawve some vork to finish. I vill join you soon."

Sulu shrugged and disappeared into the turbolift. Chekov managed to stall at his station for a few minutes until Kirk made a teasing comment about waiting until the cows came home.

"I vill hawve you know, Keptin, cows come home to Russia."

Laughter filled the bridge, though Chekov noticed that Uhura did not join the rest. His mood dampened further and he wondered if their kiss the day before had altered their friendship beyond recognition. Uhura had always found his Russian-based comments to be a source of amusement. She had been his reason to mention his nation so often.

But she was silent at her station and even though her shift ended at the same time as his, she apparently opted to remain there through dinner.

A final glance in her direction and then the turbolift doors shut, cutting off his vision. Love, he decided, was overrated.

* * *

A knock on his quarters broke his concentration from his logs.

"Who is it?" he questioned as he leaned back from his PADD. He shut his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Chekov, it's me."

_Uhura_.

Chekov halted all movements and sat very still for a moment. Slowly lowering a hand, he rotated his head towards the door as though expecting her to vaporize in at any given second. He dropped his hands onto his thighs, rubbing his palms against the rough fabric of his Starfleet-issued slacks.

Once his surprise faded, anger bubbled to the surface. He stood from his chair abruptly, furiously wondering what gave her the right to think she could just come over and talk to him after ignoring him for three days in a row. A tangent of possible things to say to her ran through his mind and his quick brain evaluated each of them, testing to see which one would cause her to be as hurt, offended, and empty as he felt every time she purposely avoided talking to him.

After his brief internal survey, he could not think of anything that satisfied him enough. So when he finally opened the door, he kept his eyes narrowed, his lips turned downward.

Fully expecting a worried face or a nervous expression, he was faintly shocked to see that her face showed no such emotions. Instead, he was met with fierce eyes that seemed to burn into him. Her hands planted firmly on her sides gripped her red skirt so tightly that her knuckles arched in sharp angles. With her emblazoned eyes, sharp cheekbones, and firmly set jaw, Chekov was sure he gazed upon strength personified.

"You're not a rebound," she stated sharply.

"Vhat?" Chekov questioned. He glanced about the hallway as though the sense of her comment would suddenly appear tangible in the air around them.

"You're not a rebound," she repeated in the same forceful tone. She paused and licked her lips for one brief, shining moment that Chekov was sure would haunt his dreams for years to come. With a deep breath and in a much calmer voice, she continued. "I know I didn't speak to you the past few days and I'm sorry for that. I really am."

The look on her face was so sincere that Chekov could not help but believe her. He nodded mutely as a wordless agreement formed between them that he would not interrupt what she had come to his quarters to say. All his anger dissipated as she carried on.

"But I needed some time to think," Uhura explained. Her hands relaxed at her side, but she did not lower her arms from their strong stance. "You have no idea how scared I was when I thought you were hurt."

The memory from three days past seemed to flicker through her mind and suddenly her face seemed as lost as a little girl's. Chekov felt consumed with the desire to hold her close to him, to ease her confusion, to prove that he knew what it was to worry for someone.

"And then when I found out it was Scotty? And I was more relieved that you were safe rather than Scotty was safe? That was weird and terrifying and then you kissed me," she finished emphatically. Uhura seemed nearly breathless with her confession.

Unable to hold back his words, Chekov felt a single phrase slip through his lips and echo against the walls around them.

"I'm sorry."

"No," she responded in the same sharp tone as before. "Don't apologize because it was amazing and I wouldn't take back a second of it." Her arms finally fell away from her sides and he found the courage to gather her hands within his.

"But I didn't even know that I cared for you that way. But I do," she whispered, stepping closer within his personal space. "I've thought of very little else since I found out you were safe, and you're more than just a rebound. You're more than just a distraction from Spock's departure."

A promise rang through her words. The sincerity of her emotion, the piercing of her eyes hit him in the core and he felt as weightless as he had when they first kissed outside Sick Bay.

"I just didn't want to say anything until I was sure."

For the first time since he opened the door, she looked away. Chekov let the gravity of the moment settle around him before he finally regained the use of the nerves in his body. A single hand released hers and lifted to her face. Two nimble fingers touched the impossibly soft skin under her chin as he directed her face towards him once more. He stared unblinking into her eyes for just one second, allowing her to see the same tender care within his own orbs before speaking.

"Thank you," he breathed before bringing her face closer to his, closing the space between them.

There may have been a dozen people watching, they may have been alone. Nothing existed outside their bodies, beyond the small wrap of air surrounding them. Their bodies pressed together, their entwined hands trapped between their stomachs. Her free hand palmed the back of his head, threading her fingers through his curls.

"I care for you," she mumbled against his lips. Uhura parted away only enough to murmur the words, her lips decadently brushing against his as she annunciated each syllable. "I _care_ for you."

Moments as such do not last forever and it was with two heavy hearts that she pressed her lips against his for the final time that night. But the assurance of so much more lingered between them as she whispered good night and slipped away into the hallway. That was enough for a lifetime of happiness, Chekov decided.

* * *

_Aw, what a cute chapter. Too bad I don't like to leave my characters happy for long. The next chapter provides a great little plot twist that I'm sure you're all going to absolutely love. You can't see me, but I have an evil grin right now. Anyway, chapter nine should be posted in a day or so. I have not started it yet, but I have everything plotted out. And it's a chapter that I've been waiting to write since I started this. :)_

_Alright, I just want to say thank you to everyone who reads this. If you are a fan of this story, I want you to go to a mirror right now and say "You are awesome." Do it. Right now. And for those of you who leave reviews, too? Give yourselves an extra hug. You are all so amazing and I'm so thankful that you like my story. You rock._


	9. Picnic and Prejudice

_I actually had this written a few days ago, but I needed my sister (J-Awesomeness) to read it over before I posted. Between her and my schedules, we've been a bit busy and so today was the quickest I could post. Sorry! Anyway, I like to think that it's worth the wait because this is one of the chapters I was most looking forward to writing. I don't know what you'll think, but I abosolutely love the ending to this. lol_

_**Note**: I finally brought Officer Ruiz into this fic. She's an OC and this is probably the only chapter she will be in. (I might mention her in the next few chapters, but otherwise this is it.) She's based entirely off of a friend of mine and I wanted to honor her by writing her in. I also used her as a way to flesh out Kirk, to give him some more depth and interaction. Also, since she took over the Science Officer position, she is symbolic of how the crew responded to Spock's departure. I hope you enjoy her (I think she's tons of fun!), but if you don't, she'll be gone after this chapter._

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own Star Trek. I don't own TOS dvds either. Hmm... I should invest..._

* * *

"Why do I have to go?"

Doctor McCoy barged onto the Bridge with his usual elegance. Uhura glanced up to see his trademark scowl deeply lined on his face. She turned back to her station with a smirk and a roll of her eyes.

Kirk twisted around in his captain's chair to face his CMO. His boyish face attempted an innocent expression, but the sly smile slowly growing on his face betrayed him.

"Well, you're the one who ordered me to take some time off. What was it that you said?" He asked with a mock-confused look. He brought a hand up to his face to stroke his chin. "I'm working too hard? I'm too stressed out over the Enterprise?" He lowered his hand to glare at his best friend. "I need to stop worrying how my hair looks after a day on the Bridge?"

"You worry more than a woman," McCoy insisted. "And that's besides the point. Why the hell do I have to come along to your gallivanting on some godforsaken planet?"

Uhura snuck a look around the Bridge and saw that she was not alone in trying to suppress her laughter. Sulu caught her eye from across the room and they both had to turn away quickly before laughing loudly at the captain and the doctor's banter. Something fluttered excitedly in her stomach as her eyes passed over Chekov's curly hair shaking with quiet amusement.

"Because how do you know I will take your medical advice and actually relax?" Kirk continued. "If you come, you can monitor my behavior." He finished with what he clearly considered to be his most winning and charming smile. The doctor, however, was immune to such antics.

"I'll send a babysitter," McCoy responded snidely. "Though God only knows where I can find someone willing to waste their day chasing after you."

"I'm a captain. I don't need a babysitter," Kirk answered with a pout as McCoy scoffed. "But I do need you to come down, too. C'mon, Bones! CMOs need relaxation, too." He flashed his same charm again, trying to wear down his friend. He stood up from his chair and motioned to everyone else on the Bridge going on shore leave to follow him down to the transporter room.

"Dammit, Jim, I have work to do!"

Kirk and McCoy led the small group to the transporter room, bickering and lightly shoving each other the whole time. Uhura pressed her fingers tightly to her mouth to keep in her giggles. It wasn't until Scotty in the transporter room teased them about their argument that McCoy finally snapped his mouth shut. Kirk, with a victorious grin, hopped up to the transporters in order to beam down.

"About how long will ye be down, lads?" Scotty asked them affably. "And lass," he added, nodding to Uhura.

"Just a few hours," Kirk answered in stride, still grinning triumphantly at the doctor. "We can't stay too long, but Alondra is supposed to be a very nice planet for some relaxation." He stressed the final word with a sideways glance at McCoy.

"Anyone else joinin' ye?" Scotty's eyes swooped over the small group before him. Since it was such a short visit and Kirk was only going because McCoy forced him to take some leave, only a handful of crew members decided to beam down. Ensigns Genoese and Sullivan had been waiting for Kirk, McCoy, Uhura, and Chekov in the transporter room.

"Ruiz said something about maybe coming later so beam her down if she wants to come. But Sulu is handling the console while I'm away. You're welcome to join us if you want," Kirk offered.

Scotty shook his head and gestured down to his still bandaged leg.

"Kind of ye, Captain, but I have had enough beamin' down for a while," he refused with his usual good mood and waited until everyone stood still on their transporter pads. Once he was satisfied that everyone was settled, he gave them a cheery wave as he transported them down to the surface.

The familiar sensation tingled through her body as Uhura rematerialized onto Alondra. Before she could even take in her surroundings, she felt a small blast of air blow the back of her hair. She turned around to find Chekov standing very near her with a cheerful smile.

"I hawve a surprise," he informed her with glee. She gave him an odd look and glanced down to see a basket in his hand.

"I didn't see you holding that before," she said, grinning as he lifted the basket up for her to peer inside. A red-and-white checkered sheet sat on top of various containers of food. She could not see what all was in the containers, but the smell wafting from the basket was mouth-watering.

"Mr. Scotty let me keep it in the transporter room," Chekov revealed as he tentatively took her hand into his. His eyes squinted against the bright orange sunlight on the planet.

"More like hide it," she teased, squeezing his hand. She could tell the other crew members were watching their interactions. It had only been a few days since she had arrived at his quarters, convincing him that he was not a rebound. Word of their relationship had not started to spread.

_Yet_, Uhura thought with girlish excitement as she caught Kirk's bemused expression in her peripheral vision. That man just could not keep a secret. He was the reason her relationship with Spock had spread through the _Enterprise_ like wildfire after he watched them kiss on the transporter pads.

"Come on, let's go." He tugged on her hand and pulled her away.

Without another word, she followed him. Entirely ecstatic by the beautiful planet, the beautiful weather, and the beautiful boy holding her hand, Uhura threw her head back and laughed.

Behind her, she could hear McCoy's southern drawl as he turned to Kirk.

"Well, this is an interesting development."

* * *

The air on Alondra was thinner than what Uhura and Chekov were used to on Earth and the _Enterprise_. Between the thin air and the delicious food they had eaten, they quickly fell into a languid pace with sleepy eyes.

Sitting with her legs tucked under her on the red and white sheet, Uhura brushed the sandwich crumbs off of her skirt. After a few moments of savoring the satisfying taste of her lunch, she gathered up her trash. Thinking the basket was empty, she opened it to place her trash and was surprised to see a single container left inside.

She pulled the container out to see that it held two brownies. Across from her on the blanket, Chekov smiled shyly.

"I remember you once said brownies vere your faworite," he said almost bashfully.

"They are, thank you," she answered, handing him one of the brownies. "Chekov, this is all so sweet. And the food is wonderful. Where did you get it?"

"I asked the cooks in my nicest voice," he spoke solemnly. He managed to keep a straight face for a few seconds before breaking out into a radiant smile.

Uhura smiled, too, biting into her brownie. The rich chocolate taste filled her immediately and she shut her eyes with pleasure. Vulcans did not have much of a tolerance for chocolate as it affected them much the way that alcohol affected humans. While dating Spock, she had not eaten as much chocolate as she would have liked. Thankfully with Chekov, she no longer had to make that same sacrifice.

Once she finished with her brownie, she shifted around on the blanket so she could lay back with her head in Chekov's lap. Her legs stretched out over the edge of the blanket and the feathery, grass-like flora tickled her warm skin.

She stared up at the slowly dimming sky above them and scanned the expanse for signs of stars or a moon. One of Chekov's hands drifted to her upper arm, lightly tracing the outline of her sleeve. With his other hand, he gently ran his fingertips along the taunt hair pulled back by her ponytail.

Her eyes slid shut contentedly as she nestled her head more firmly into his lap with a smile on her face. She could hear Kirk and McCoy talking not too far away from their picnic area and felt the sun's balmy rays seep through her. Completely relaxed in her surroundings, Uhura opened her eyes only when one pale finger reached down to trace the contours of her lips.

"You have a beautiful smile, Uhura," Chekov whispered through her haze of warmth.

Uhura brought her hand up to hold his hand in place as she pressed her lips to each smooth pad of his fingers.

"Thank you, Chekov," she answered just as quietly.

"Call me Pavel. Please."

She sat up from her spot in his lap in order to face him directly. His eyes peered into hers with a desire she could scarcely look away from. Instead, she watched his azure eyes and the subtle play of light and shadows dancing across his pale skin.

"Only if you call me Nyota."

* * *

Dinner was a late affair for the landing crew that day since they did not beam back up to the _Enterprise_ until 1900 hours. When Chekov and Uhura arrived in the cafeteria, Sulu and Scotty were nearly finished their meals.

Though they cleared their trays before than Chekov and Uhura, they remained at the table longer than necessary to talk. They asked how Alondra looked and in turn, Chekov and Uhura asked how things had gone on the Bridge.

"Everything was fine. As I'm sure you've noticed, nothing went wrong while you guys were beamed down," Sulu answered before getting up for a moment to get a second helping of corn.

"I went down to the Bridge meself to help keep an eye on things," Scotty quipped with another gulp of his water. "Dinnae need to though. Between Sulu and Ruiz, things are goin' well."

"Sulu alvays does well," Chekov said with pride. "And Officer Ruiz is wery talented."

Sulu nodded enthusiastically as he sat back down in his seat next to Chekov.

"She's great. Just as smart as Spock and much more conversational on the Bridge," he chuckled.

Scotty coughed non-discretely and looked imploringly at Sulu. He met the Scotsman's expression with confusion until Scotty jerked a thumb at Uhura. Chekov thought the look of comprehension that dawned on Sulu's face was rather funny.

"Oh, Uhura, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mention Spock," he apologized quickly. He glanced at Chekov, clearly unsure as to why the ensign was smiling with amusement.

"Don't worry about it, Sulu," she assured him nonchalantly. "It's been a few months. I'm over it, really."

Her eyes met Chekov's across the table and her boot nudged his gently. Aware of her intentions, he nodded eagerly and nudged her back for good measure.

"Actually," she started slowly, making sure she had Sulu's and Scotty's undivided attention before she continued. "Pavel and I are together now."

Sulu clapped an excited hand onto Chekov's shoulder, beaming brightly at him. Scotty gave his well wishes and a kiss onto Uhura's cheek. Chekov grinned like an idiot as Uhura kept smiling at him.

The conversations continued for another half an hour until Uhura announced that she wanted to go wash up before she had another shift on the Bridge. The remaining men said their good byes and she left with a kiss to Chekov's cheek.

He speared the beef on his plate with his fork, trying not to burst with happiness. The swell in his stomach felt akin to excitement.

"I'm really happy for you guys," Sulu told him sincerely. Scotty nodded in reiteration.

"Ah've never seen her so happy before," Scotty announced with a broad grin.

Chekov could only smile.

* * *

"I'm bored," Kirk whined as he shifted around in his seat. Normally, he loved sitting in his captain's chair. The sense of power, the feeling of familiarity, the knowledge that it was his and no one else's… It was intoxication like no other. But after two hours into the graveyard shift, it felt confining and not comfortable enough.

_I need more cushions. And a foot rest_, he thought as he readjusted himself for the umpteenth time.

Officer Sheyla Ruiz was the only other crewmember on the Bridge assigned to the graveyard shift that day. She had taken over Sulu's position and refused to look back at the captain. Perturbed by her disregard for his boredom, he grew increasingly grumpy. He moaned and grumped for a few more minutes before she finally turned around.

"Oh, give it a rest, Captain. You went down to Alondra just two weeks ago. That should be enough for you," she said in exasperation. "And when you complain like that, you sound just like McCoy." She rolled her eyes at him before turning back in her seat.

Kirk watched silently as her hair swished with her movements. She was one of the only officers who wore her hair down and he found himself somewhat fascinated as the dark curtain of hair covered the portion of her face that he could see.

"But nothing has happened since Alondra," he finally responded, growing tired of the silence that once again settled around them.

"Oh, gee, I guess it's so terrible that we haven't had any skirmishes with other planets or haven't had any technical difficulties on with the ship," she answered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

_If her sarcasm was visible, it would be shiny_, Kirk thought. Being bored for hours was really starting to take effect on his thought-processes.

"I'm glad we didn't have any problems. But a little excitement is always welcome," he told her with as much honesty as he could muster. She gave a one-shoulder shrug, but did not turn to face forward again. Her hazel eyes stared at him with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. The fact that he had her attention spiked a little life back into his listless demeanor.

"We could stir a little excitement right here, right now, if you want."

Leaning back into his chair in his best leisurely-captain pose, he waggled his eyebrows and gave his signature smirk.

"Oh, sweetheart, I don't think so," she told with only a trace of venom in her voice. Their eyes met for a moment before they both chuckled.

With a smile less seductive and more friendly, he glanced her small frame up and down. She was a pretty girl, no doubt. Fun personality. Smart. A vicious streak a mile wide that he figured would be really fun in his quarters. She was almost enough to make him breech protocol about relationships with subordinates on the Bridge. Almost.

"So, Captain," she asked with her sarcasm back in place. "When's the last time you hit on a woman and she actually accepted?"

Thin, penciled eyebrows raised expectantly in his direction as he fixed her with a hard, confused look. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

"Uhura and I have gotten to be pretty good friends," she said casually, answering his unspoken question.

He opened his mouth once more to respond but was again interrupted. This time, the disruption came from the communications station. Closer to the station than Ruiz, he got up from his chair to check what the noise meant.

Uhura's station blinked repetitively as the noise sounded again. At the Academy, Kirk had taken a few communications classes as part of his graduation requirement. Old test questions resurfaced to his mind as he glanced about the board, trying to figure out which switches to flick and which buttons to press. After a few moments, he held the communicator to his ear and managed to make the connection.

_I need to get more familiar with this. All of the stations_, he decided. A captain needed to know his ship.

"This is the _USS_ _Enterprise_. State your name and business," he spoke officially into the communicator.

"Hello, Jim."

Kirk's eyes widened with amazement as he recognized the deep voice.

"Spock?" He nearly shouted into the communicator. He stared at Ruiz, who spun around in her seat to watch him, equally wild-eyed.

"There is no need to shout, Captain." His voice sounded the same as it always had, just as deep, just as stoic. Kirk wondered why he felt so surprised. Spock had only been gone for six months. Hardly enough time for a total transformation. It only _felt_ like he had been gone for so much longer.

"Sorry, Spock. Just surprised to hear from you," Kirk answered, still trying to get a handle on the surrealism of the moment. "You haven't spoken to any of us since you went to New Vulcan."

"An accurate observation from your part, I'm sure. However, the facts would claim otherwise," Spock responded in an unusually cryptic manner.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, frowning in confusion.

Ruiz had stood up from her seat, but hadn't moved any closer to him. She continued to stare at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. She gestured her hands towards him, painfully curious as to what Spock was saying on the other line. Kirk shrugged, feeling as lost as she looked.

"Jim, I would prefer if we could talk in a more personal matter."

Kirk wasn't sure what that entailed. Did Spock expect him to fly at Warp 8 towards New Vulcan so they could talk face-to-face? Did he have to dim the lights and start speaking in his sexy telephone voice?

"Yeah, I still don't know what you're talking about," he said slowly.

Spock exhaled the tiniest bit and Kirk was under the impression that it was the Vulcan-equivalent to an exasperated sigh. Kirk amused himself for a moment, trying to imagine what Spock's annoyed face would look like without emotional restraint. When Spock spoke again, Kirk thought he heard a desperate undertone to Spock's otherwise apathetic voice.

"If I am correct in assuming that you are at the communications station, press the transmitter array switch."

Raising his eyebrows, Kirk thought he heard Spock's voice catch when he said _communications station_.

"Transmitter array switch, transmitter array switch," Kirk muttered to himself as he grazed his eyes across the multitude of buttons and switches on the console.

"The blue one in the upper left hand corner," Ruiz informed him with just a slight patronizing tone.

_Yep. Seriously need to start learning about the different stations. And Uhura deserves more credit._

Kirk fought back the urge to give her an annoyed look and found the blue switch. With a single flick, something began to whir almost silently within the mechanics of the station.

"Jim."

No longer hearing Spock's voice through the communicator and instead hearing it come from speakers near the front of the Bridge, Kirk turned around. On the main window, a holograph image appeared like a television.

"Hey, again," Kirk answered somewhat lamely as he made his way back to his chair.

"Hello," Ruiz greeted politely.

"Officer Ruiz, hello. As you are on the Bridge, I conclude you have filled my previous place as Science Officer."

"Yes I have, sir." It was not a question, but Ruiz answered anyway.

"In that case, I presume congratulatory remarks are in order. Commendable work must have been completed on your part in order to receive such a promotion," Spock said evenly with a slight inclination of his head.

Ruiz thanked him and then turned around to face Kirk.

"Was that a compliment?" she mouthed.

Kirk could only shrug. He thought he had gotten pretty close to Spock since his officially established captaincy, but he still had trouble translating all of the Spock-isms.

"Officer Ruiz, I wonder if it would be at all possible for you to give the captain and myself some privacy. The matter of which I wish to speak of him concerns only us."

Another flicker of resentment flickered across her round face, but she looked to Kirk for clearance. Kirk nodded in agreement and offered a sympathetic look that did nothing to ease the annoyance on her face. Without another word, she stepped into the turbolift and disappeared.

Kirk stared at the closed doors for a moment before turning back to face his friend and former co-worker. The two men watched each other in silence, looking each other over. Kirk stared at his face, trying to decipher and analyze even the slightest hint of emotion. Spock's expression was controlled, but there was a slight tightness around his eyes. Something in his eyes reminded Kirk of when he had emotionally compromised him after the destruction of Vulcan.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" he said simply and carefully, continuing to study the stone-like face before him.

"I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused," Spock responded, easily dodging Kirk's question. This caused the captain to narrow his eyes with suspicion, but he knew Spock well enough to know that he would come to the point when he was ready.

"It's fine, Spock. Don't worry about it," he answered, going along with the diversion. He gave a casual smile, though his insides burned with curiosity.

Spock seemed to twitch and Kirk realized his mistake. He had implied that Spock had an emotion and as everyone knew, Vulcan's do not have emotions. With a sigh, he waited for Spock to remind and reprimand him.

But he didn't.

"I wanted to contact during your night hours so that I would not have contact with crew members. I want this to remain confidential should your answer vary from what I would like you to say," Spock said, implying that he wanted Kirk's reassurance that he would conform to Spock's wishes. He waited for Kirk's nod of agreement before continuing. "I am most fortunate that you are on graveyard shift. I was… curious as to who might be working."

Kirk heard the _Uhura_ that Spock did not say and stared more closely at his friend, noticing the clouded brown of his eyes.

"Well, everyone has to take their turn on the shift," he shrugged, silently cursing equality. An awkward silence fell between them as Spock offered no continuation to their conversation. Kirk hated awkward silences and felt compelled to say something, anything. "So, how's New Vulcan?"

"It is satisfactory to our needs. The climate is similar to what we are familiar with. We have erected many buildings and several cities have been nearly completed. All in all, we are as happy as we allow ourselves to be." He paused and averted his eyes to the side of his room before returning back to Kirk. "However, I have found a common complaint among the race is that we do not like the dust here. Myself in particular."

"Spock, there was dust on old Vulcan," Kirk told him after a beat. He found it so strange that his friend would find the _dust _of all things to be irksome.

"This dust is different," Spock informed him with only slight hesitation. To Kirk's amazement, he thought Spock sounded a bit like an upset child.

"Okay," Kirk began harshly in an annoyed and commanding tone. "You need to stop pussy-footing around. Why did you call? After all these months, why did you choose to contact us now?" He gave Spock a hard glare, mentally convincing him to reveal what was really going on.

"I wish to return."

Spock spoke simply. There seemed to be no hidden meaning, no alternative answer. His voice was more than just apathetic, it was even and smooth and there wasn't even a hitch in his words. And damned if that half-attempt at an answer didn't set Kirk off.

"What?!" He nearly exploded in his chair. He clutched the chair arms so tightly that his knuckles glowed white. "Did you spread your seed and now you're done and ready to move on? Pretty sucky dad, if you ask me."

He knew the words were harsh and painful, but if that was what Spock meant, someone needed to give him an honest opinion. Someone had to set him straight and Kirk meant to do that. He knew better than almost anyone else what a father figure could mean for a kid.

"That is not the case," Spock defended himself. The first trace of anger appeared on his visage.

"So what? You just want to come back because you're bored there? Because the dust bothers you?"

With each sneer and biting word, Kirk watched as Spock's expression grew tighter and tighter. A muscle near his mouth twitched unpleasantly and he shut his eyes for a moment before answering.

"I have my own reasons, Captain," he replied, deliberately using _Captain_ instead of _Jim_, "and I do not wish to discuss them with you in this manner.

"Then I have nothing more to say to you except that I cannot honor your request unless you give me a valid reason. If you just move back and forth between places, I cannot rely on your dedication," Kirk said with an air of finality. He sat still in his chair, firm in his stance. He would not and could not allow this sort of behavior from any of his crew members, regardless of his personal relationship with them.

Kirk could practically hear the wheels turning in Spock's head as he thought over Kirk's declaration. There was only a brief moment of silence before Spock nodded his head once.

"Your logic is clear, despite your emotional presentation."

"Then tell me the reason, Spock," Kirk asked, feeling a great wave of relief pass through him at Spock's acceptance of his logic.

"It has been decided among the Vulcan High Council that I am not needed for all aspects of rebuilding our world. More specifically, our race," Spock informed. His voice lowered somewhat as though he was afraid of someone overhearing.

Something was not right. Something he said felt _off_. Spock's voice changed. It went from its even, smooth quality to something jerkier and harder to reveal. Kirk could not understand, but something cold grew unsettlingly in his stomach.

"Wait, they don't need you to help rebuild your race?" He leaned forward in his seat as though if he moved closer to the image of Spock projected on the screen, he would get rid of the painfully cold feeling.

"Correct," Spock nodded with a tight jaw.

"But isn't that why you went there? To help birth more Vulcans? To repopulate?" Sometime while he spoke, Kirk stood up in a firm stance.

"Again, correct." Another nod.

"Then why don't they want you?" Kirk asked perplexed. His eyes bugged slightly and his eyebrows met in the middle.

"They were unable to find a Vulcan woman who wished to birth any offspring created between her and myself." An uncharacteristically ugly face appeared on Spock's face. "It is not just the women. Many of the remaining Vulcans feel a certain unease regarding my ability to procreate."

"Why?!"

Spock took a moment to lick his lips. If he had been anyone else, it would have appeared as though his mouth was merely dry and he was trying to ramify that. But Kirk knew Spock too well and knew that his friend was the human equivalent to nervous and upset and this was his only physical reaction to the emotions boiling under his skin.

"Simply, genetics," he finally supplied with a gentler, calmer expression. It was as though he had given up.

And then suddenly, it clicked. It all made sense. Kirk felt his leg muscles straining under his tense position and he released his aching legs as he fell back into his captain's chair. The sick realization sunk in and even the air around him felt disgusting.

"Because you're half-Vulcan," he rasped out. The edges of his vision glowed red with anger and he could only focus on his friend in front of him.

"Because I'm half-human," Spock corrected as though he were a teacher fixing a simple mistake on a student's assignment. "They feel my human genetics will infiltrate the race and cause an impurity that cannot be reversed." The ugly look returned on his face. "Even those that I considered my companions and friends have expressed a similar distaste."

"They're not friends," Kirk spat out adamantly.

"I have surmised as much," Spock said with a single raised eyebrow.

"What about your father?" Kirk asked suddenly as he realized Spock had said nothing about what his father thought about the whole situation.

Spock took a moment to think. Kirk wasn't sure if he was taking a moment to word his answer in the most logical way or if the question had never crossed his mind. Spock was too intelligent to avoid such a question, but sons always want the approval of their fathers, even if they have to deny or refuse the initial disapproval.

"He has not said one way or another," he spoke finally with another glance about the room he was in. "I am not sure if he is silent to avoid confrontation with myself or if to avoid confrontation with the council."

Silence lapsed between them as anger pulsed through Kirk's body. The urge to run and hit someone took over the cold sensation in his body. The chair seemed too small for his enraged body so he leapt up and walked in short strides in front of the Spock's image.

"It's not _fair_!" He shouted indignantly, cracking his knuckles just to give his itching hands something to do. Breathing heavily from his nose, he glanced up to see Spock with a resigned expression. Kirk felt another pang of guilt and anger as he understood that this was not Spock's first encounter with prejudice.

"I am aware," Spock said thickly. Something in his quiet voice calmed the sharp edges of Kirk's anger. Spock's eyes followed Kirk wordlessly as he sat back down in his chair. He waited until Kirk regained some semblance of control before continuing. "May I return, Jim?"

"Yes," he answered, running a hand over his mouth. "Yes, you can return."

For the first time in their conversation, the muscles around Spock's eyes released and relaxed by a slight degree. His shoulders seemed to lower and somehow even his mouth seemed less thin.

"I thank you."

After making arrangements to pick Spock up from New Vulcan, Kirk and Spock shared a good bye and Spock guided him through shutting down the transmission. Kirk stared at the now blank window where Spock's image had been moments before.

Feeling as though he had a rage hangover, he slumped back into his seat and rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

"Not fair," he muttered to himself again. Then without moving anything other than his one arm, he pulled out his communicator to call back Officer Ruiz.

When she arrived back on the Bridge minutes later, he was still in his hunched over position. At the sound of the turbolift, he sat back up and pretended that things with Spock had gone better. He even managed a smile that he hoped seemed casual when she greeted him.

"Talk about your gay love?" she asked as she sashayed back to her seat.

"Oh, come on," he responded with sincere disbelief. "Who the hell would think we're gay lovers?"

She merely laughed and swung her dark curtain of hair again. She never answered his question, but when her laughter subsided, she turned back to him with a more somber expression.

"He wants to come back," she announced. It wasn't a question or a concern. It was just a simple statement.

He could only nod.

"Are you going to let him?"

He nodded once more, feeling distinctly pointy-eared and slanty-eyebrowed. He almost smiled at the thought. Ruiz, however, did not catch his smile and only sighed with a cross look.

"Uhura should have tossed him in a ditch when she had the chance."

Kirk smirked at the thought of Uhura as a woman scorned. Ruiz seemed to embody female bitterness and naturally projected it onto others. He could not correct her and tell her the real reason Spock was returning and only hummed in response to her statement.

The graveyard shift carried on around them for several minutes before Ruiz turned away from her console to face Kirk with a sly grin.

"So, is this the excitement you were looking for?"

* * *

_Wow... Long chapter. Does that make up for the wait? lol_

_Okay. So when I was writing this, I could not understand why I made Kirk so overly emotional. Well, there was an interview I read where Zachary Quinto said that Spock's relationship with Uhura was cathartic. Spock could project his feelings onto her like a canvas. I think he was able to do that since she was the one closest to him in the movie. I used that same idea, but applied it to the fic. Since Uhura is no longer the one closest to him, he needs a new canvas and Kirk becomes the person he is closest to and is his new canvas. (You can interpret that in a slashy way or in a platonic way. Personally, I see it as a platonic way.) Anyway, that's why he's so overemotional because he feels all the things that Spock won't let himself express. :D_

_I hope you all enjoyed the picnic scene. You're all so wonderful, I wanted to write you all some pure fluff. Plus, I didn't want this chapter to be too Spock-problem-heavy. But it's necessary for the ending._

_Last bit, I promise! In the next chapter, Spock is going to have an argument with... I don't know. Do you guys think he should have a confrontation with Chekov (since Chekov took Uhura) or with Uhura (because Uhura did not wait for him) or with Kirk (...I just really like writing Kirk)? I can write any of them, but I can't choose. So I want you guys to let me know! Please review with your answer! Please review and let me know how you liked this chapter! Thank you!_


	10. And Now I Am With You

_This chapter just simply ran away from me. I had so many ideas and I wrote out all of the new scenes that I came up with on the spot. That being said, this chapter came out very very differently than I originally anticipated. I know I said the confrontation would be in this chapter, but this chapter was already over eleven pages long. To keep the chapter at a reasonable length, I made the creative liberty to write the confrontation in the next chapter._

_On the bright side, that means this will be an extra chapter longer than I thought it would be. :D I hope that's enough to ensure your happiness._

_**Note**: The_ italics _indicate thoughts or written PADD messages (depends on the context). I love those messages. It makes me want to write snarky Kirk/Uhura fics. lol Good idea? y/n?_

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own Star Trek. Or Britney Spears. (Trust me, I have a reason for saying that.)_

_

* * *

_

_**TO:** Lt. Uhura the Unattainable Bombshell_

_**FROM:** The Badass Captain James T. Kirk_

_**SUBJECT**: I must confess that my loneliness is killing me now-ow-ow-ow-ow…_

_Uhura. I need to talk to you about some important matters concerning crew members. Please come to my quarters before your shift at 900 hours. (The earlier you come, the more time we have for sexytimes…kidding, I swear.)_

_-JTK (My name is a lot like JFK. Have you ever noticed that? Do you think I'll be assassinated one day?)_

* * *

_**TO:** Captain Kirk_

_**FROM**: Lt. Uhura_

_**SUBJECT**: I think the captain of a starship such as the _Enterprise_ should write mature subjects_

_Kirk. I'll be there. If this is some kind of idiotic, half-baked excuse to get me to come down to your quarters for so-called sexytimes, I will risk whatever sort of charges to tell you exactly where I think you can shove your captaincy._

_-Uhura (If you were assassinated, I wouldn't be surprised.)_

* * *

_**TO**: Lt. Uhura the Unattainable Bombshell_

_**FROM**: The Badass Captain James T. Kirk_

_**SUBJECT**: That's my prerogative._

_Uhura. I was only kidding. Take a chill pill and relax, dollface. And what sort of charges would I actually give you? I need you on the Bridge to keep me in line. It wouldn't be as fun without you._

_-TbadassCJTK (I don't want to keep signing as JTK. It might tempt fate.)_

* * *

Uhura stood outside the captain's quarters, his message still apparent on her PADD clutched tightly in her hand. She raised a single closed fist to tap on the door a few times.

"Come in!" came the disembodied voice from within. The door slid open before her and she walked in. Kirk's room was, as always, a bit messy. His bed was still unmade from the night before and from the way the sheets were twisted around each other and kicked to the edge of the bed, Uhura assumed the captain was a fitful sleeper. Kirk sat at his desk chair, typing away furiously at something on his computer. He looked up to grin widely at her before finishing up whatever it was he was typing. Leaning back from his seat, he frowned thoughtfully at his monitor before smiling satisfied and shutting down whatever program he had been using.

"Hey, Uhura! What's up?" he asked cheerfully, standing from his seat and indicated for her to sit.

"Kirk," Uhura started in a curt tone as she settled herself into his chair and placed her PADD on the desk beside her. "You called me down here for a reason. What did you want to talk about?"

The captain's smile faltered as he sat on the edge of his bed to face her. The usual joke and sparkle in his blue eyes had faded and Uhura watched his facial muscles tighten. She braced herself for whatever serious news he was about to divulge.

"I talked to Spock last night." Kirk paused and pursed his lips before finishing. "He wants to come back to the _Enterprise_."

It was like ripping off a bandage. He spoke quickly, leaving the words to hang in the air. The sudden announcement stung as much as irritated skin revealed beneath the adhesive.

Uhura found it surprisingly easy to keep her expression level as she finally responded.

"I see," she nodded, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. "Did you approve his request?"

Kirk eyed her for a moment, waiting to see if she would have an outburst. She continued to watch him with a level expression as he finally relented.

"Yes." He looked her over once more and with a more authoritative tone, addressed her again. 'If you have any problems with that, state them now. I'm not going to listen to you complain about this for however long you decide to complain. So if you've got a problem, let's hear it."

He clapped his hands down on his knees and leaned forward to fix her with a hard look. Slightly impressed with his empowered stance and command, she tilted her head to the side inquiringly.

"If I say I have a problem with it, is that going to affect your decision?"

"No," Kirk answered, shaking his head. "Because I'm the captain and I get the final say." Then he broke from his captain position and grinned almost sheepishly at her. "Besides, I already contacted Starfleet and worked out everything with them. Cut through the red tape with a phaser."

He used his hand to pantomime a phaser and mimicked shooting invisible red tape. They shared a smile together over his childish antics before their expressions settled back into a more somber mood.

"Lucky for me, I don't have a problem with it," Uhura assured him.

Particularly in the first few months of his departure, Uhura had fantasized what it would be like if Spock were to return. Her thoughts ranged from cold indifference towards his attempts to speak with her to a passionate and romantic reunion in which he declared his love and apologized endlessly for leaving her, apologies she surely would forgive. Over the next few months, the fantasies had slowly faded away until she only had a rare moment or two when she wondered if he would ever resume his position on the Bridge.

But now that she knew Spock was actually returning, any thoughts of impractical liaisons or embittered arguments had ceased to exist and she only hoped they could continue to work together with limited awkwardness.

"Really?" Kirk asked incredulously with a mixed expression of surprise and admiration. A relieved grin spread across his attractive face.

"He's been gone for months. Any problem I had, I've gotten over," Uhura informed him with a shrug. She paused for a moment and glanced down at her hands still clasped on her lap. She slowly unthreaded her fingers and when she looked up at the captain, she spoke in a softer voice.

"And he left for a good reason. To help his people. I can't be expected to be worth an entire culture and way of life. He needed to go. I understand that," she spoke honestly. She gave a wistful smile and averted her eyes from Kirk's piercing blue to look at the floor beside them.

"I just wanted him to stay for selfish reasons," she finished lamely, eyeing the dirty laundry that coated the carpet. Uhura was surprised to feel a warm hand on her knee and looked back at Kirk to see him staring at her earnestly.

"Love isn't selfish," he promised her with a strange symphony of emotions splayed across his face.

Comforted by his friendship, she slipped her smaller hand around his paler one and squeezed gently.

"It can be."

With another wistful smile, she patted his hand before he drew away. There was a beat of silence while Kirk shifted around on his bed. He shoved the twisted sheets off the edge so he could lean back in a relaxed lounge.

"So you and Chekov…?" he trailed off with a waggle of his thick eyebrows.

"The rumors are true," Uhura answered with a smirk. "We're together."

"I'm just never going to get my chance, am I?" he moaned pitifully. Uhura could only laugh at his overly dejected appearance as he draped an arm over his eyes in a dramatic display.

Kirk shook his head in mock-regret, causing him to join her in her laughter for a moment. Then he shifted his weight so that he was resting on one elbow, his opposite hand running through his short blonde hair.

"How's he going to take it?" Kirk asked with a trace of apprehension.

Truthfully, Uhura had wondered about this, too. Once again, her thoughts had been inconclusive. She wasn't sure how he would react. Would he be upset? Calm? Jealous? Where Spock was sparing with his emotions, Chekov wore his heart on his sleeve. It was one of her favorite things about him, but she wondered how this trait would affect his attitude when she told him about Spock.

"Well," she conceded raising her hands in the air in bemusement, "he's going to have to take it just fine. I'm not going to deal with him being jealous when he has no reason to be."

Kirk smirked at her no-nonsense tone and nodded.

"So there are absolutely no leftover feelings for Spock?" he asked suddenly, blinking at her with curious eyes.

"No," Uhura shook her head adamantly. "I mean, I would like to continue being friends with him. But honestly, I'm over him." She paused again, carefully picking her words. "It would just be easier to be over him if he wasn't here."

With another nod, Kirk glanced down to his fingers resting against the taunt gold fabric on his stomach. He drummed them for a while, staring as though he was not paying attention to his actions.

"I haven't told Chekov yet," Kirk said suddenly. His fingers stopped their restless movements and he faced Uhura with a peaked appearance. "Ruiz already knows since she was there when Spock contacted. And Sulu knows because he asked me why the ship was heading towards New Vulcan."

Uhura had assumed that she was not the first person to know. This information did not shock her. She was touched that Kirk had told her in private, away from prying eyes. She was equally glad that he had not told Chekov. He had at least enough tact to guess that she would want to tell him herself, which in it of itself was surprising.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Bones," Kirk answered with a look on his face that made Uhura question why she even bothered asking.

"Of course," she answered with a roll of her eyes. She should have just assumed.

With another nod, Kirk stood up from his bed with an air of grandeur. He stood with his back erect and a determinedly serious expression etched upon his features.

"So when he comes back, I can expect you to continue doing your work as damn well as you've always been doing?"

Suppressing a smile, Uhura snapped up from the chair and brought her fingers to her forehead in a salute.

"Affirmative, sir."

They stood in their highly traditional stances for a brief second as the staid expressions morphed into joking grins.

"Great," Kirk said warmly. "I'll see you on the Bridge later?"

"As usual," she replied as she headed towards the door. Before she slid it open, she rested her palm against the doorframe and used it as leverage to push herself around to face the captain again. Kirk looked at her with a questioning gaze.

"Can I ask why Spock is coming back?" she finally asked. The question had been weighing on her mind since Kirk announced his news. "I mean, he wouldn't just impregnate some Vulcan woman and then just leave. Spock just wouldn't do that." Uhura knew that without a question of a doubt. "So there has to be a reason."

"Trust me," Kirk responded with a surprisingly acidic look on his normally cheerful face. "There is a reason. And it's a good one. But I really can't tell you anything else about it." He gave a small half-smile in apology and shrugged his shoulders.

"Not even a hint?" she prodded with a teasing pout. His expression had only heightened her curiosity and she was not above using her feminine ways to convince Kirk to explain.

"Only he can tell you," he offered with a grin and winked in friendly-flirting. "Protocol and all."

Uhura sighed and opened the door. As she walked away, she called back to him over her shoulder.

"I liked you better when you didn't follow all the rules."

* * *

"Pavel?"

Chekov looked up from his station on the Bridge to see Uhura standing over him. She laid a hesitant hand onto his shoulder and warmth emanated from her simple touch.

"Can we talk for a moment?"

Wordlessly, he stood from his chair and gathered his bearings. They glanced at Sulu who nodded and agreed to man Chekov's station while he was away.

They walked a little ways away from the Bridge to an empty quarter. It was almost nine o'clock and most people were either asleep, working, or getting breakfast so they anticipated no interruptions. Her hand firmly grasped his, running her fingers over his knuckles in a soothing manner.

Finally, they slowed their pace to a complete stop and face each other. Chekov leaned against the wall behind him, crossing his arms across his chest while he watched as Uhura wrapped one arm behind her back to grasp the elbow of her other arm. He had long since attributed this mannerism to one she exhibited when nervous about something.

Her smooth lips parted briefly as she nearly vocalized her thoughts, but Chekov cut her off before she could say anything.

"You're going to tell me that Spock is coming back, aren't you?" he asked with a hint of bitterness laced through his words.

"How did you know?" she wondered as her eyebrows knit in confusion. Looking at her beautiful face grew too painful for Chekov, so instead he chose to squint at her hand that had tightened around her elbow. Her nails were a metallic teal today and were digging into the soft, brown flesh.

"Sulu told me when I arriwed on the Bridge," he told her hand with an offhand shrug. He peered through his long lashes to glance at her face as comprehension cleared her perplexed expression.

"I only just found out from the captain. I came here right away to tell you." Her hand slipped away and fell back to her side. Her elbows bent gracefully as she gestured towards him in manner that he guessed was an attempt at comfort.

Admittedly, the softness and gentle tone of her voice pacified him to a small degree, but his stomach acid continued to churn under his skin.

"Thank you, Nyota," he responded with less bitterness. Her name slipped off the tip of his tongue so well and he savored every syllable.

For more than four years, he had been in love with Nyota Uhura and had waited patiently until she finally realized the depth of his feelings. Until she finally returned those feelings. And now that he could be with her, he did not want to lose her ever. If Spock were to return, Chekov was sure she would slip this his fingers back into the Vulcan's stoic embrace. Spock was older than he was, more intelligent than he was. Spock knew all the languages that Nyota was so passionate about. There was a bond between them that Chekov could not deny and he knew it was a bond not easily broken.

He was going to lose her. Spock was going to return and he was going to sweep her off her feet with his Vulcan romance, whatever that consisted of. But clearly, Vulcan romance did exist. He had won Nyota before, hadn't he? Who was to say that he could not do it again?

These thoughts had plagued Chekov for weeks, his anxieties and fears heightened the moment Sulu had regretfully informed him of Spock's upcoming return. Little more than three years were left of their five year mission on the Enterprise. If he had to spend the remaining time watching Nyota and Spock press fingers together on the Bridge or exchange subtle glances, he did not want to imagine how that would make him feel.

_It vould feel like this. Like burning and cold at the same time. Like stomachaches and tense shoulders. It vould feel like it did before he left. Only it vould feel vorse because you _had_ her and then you lost her._

As though she could read his mind, a thoughtful look graced her face and concern flooded her entire body. He watched, unmoving, as she took a few steps forward and placed her teal-tipped hands against the sides of his face. Her fingertips pressed into his downy hair as her thumbs brushed the bottoms of his earlobes. As though enchanted, Chekov uncrossed his arms and placed his hands at the small of her back, bringing them closer together.

"Spock coming back, that doesn't change anything between us," she assured him obstinately. Little puffs of air escaped her full lips and exploded softly against his chin and neck. "You and I are still together. I still care for you." One hand released its hold on his face and slowly trained down to rest its fingers idly atop his clavicle. "Spock is nothing to me but a friend."

The comfort of the moment vanished as he took in her final words.

"You vant to be friends with Spock?" he asked in amazement as his hands gripped her sides more stiffly.

"Yes," she nodded. "And if that makes you upset, I'm sorry. But he and I were close for years and I do not want to throw away our friendship."

Her tone was firm and her eyes stared in his with a steadfast expression, and he knew he could not convince her otherwise. But the image of Nyota crying in her room before Spock left, after they ended their relationship haunted his memory. He remembered his promise to protect her, to make sure she would never hurt again.

"He hurt you," Chekov stressed, staring back at her with just as much pent-up emotion in his own eyes.

Nyota calmly tapped her fingers against his collarbone, he could feel her heat through his cloth. Her other hand padded his curls as she pressed her small frame against his in a comforting and intimate way. A spicy scent that he had long ago associated with Nyota flooded his senses and he shut his eyes for a moment to savor the feeling of her closeness.

"He left because he needed to help his race," she whispered in Spock's defense. An overwhelming urge to protect Nyota from the pointy-eared bastard grew as Chekov hugged her closer against him. She rested her head into the crook of his neck and he placed his check on top of her velvety hair.

"He ran away from you and now he is back," he murmured into her hair, rubbing his hand up and down her back.

"And now I am with you." Her words were hot against his neck as her lips brushed against his sensitive skin. She pulled away just enough to place a kiss against the corner of his mouth. "Spock will not change that."

It was several minutes of kisses and caresses before they both returned to the Bridge. Feeling loved and reassured, the acidic sensation all but vanished from Chekov's stomach.

* * *

According to Jim, the _Enterprise_ would arrive between the hours of five and seven o'clock that evening. Even a week before, Spock would not have indulged in his human desire to act anxious and excited for his imminent return to the starship. However, after his recent run in with prejudice, he felt more inclined to honor his human heritage. The indignant smolder and sneering anger deep within his core was reminiscent to the sensation he endured when he denied his acceptance to the Vulcan Science Academy.

Though not as forthcoming with his emotions as his human companions would have been, his pleasure at rejoining the _Enterprise_ was palpable enough to cause his father to shut his eyes in distaste.

A brief farewell was shared between himself and his father and then Spock made his way across the dusty land to the main building in the city. Normally, he appreciated the way the sunlight ricocheted off the glass windows as a beacon of sheer light. Today, however, he only found it to be harsh on his vision and repressed the urge to shield his eyes with his hand. He entered the building at a brisk pace and soon encountered his older self awaiting his arrival.

They shared the Vulcan salute and Spock joined the ambassador on the small bench in the hallway. There was still an hour until Jim said he would beam down and there was not much else to do but wait for his transport.

"Your excitement is nearly conspicuous," Spock Prime noted with acute observation. Spock glanced down at his person to see what subtle clue had informed the older Vulcan of his excitement. He knew of no physical indications that belied his inner emotional state, but came to the conclusion that it was more of a human intuition. When he was younger, his mother was always capable of distinguishing his happiness or disappointment even when he did not physically depict his reactions.

"I am anxious to return to my station," Spock responded, looking back up to his counterpart.

The ambassador fixed him with an unfaltering stare for a moment. Spock was not unaccustomed to stares as they had been common since word had spread that he would depart New Vulcan. However, this stare was not the same judgmental look he had grown used to glimpsing on the others. Instead, there was a hint of something calmer and possibly pride in the rich brown color identical to his own.

"Forgive me, Spock, but I doubt it is entirely your station that you miss. Perhaps you also miss your crewmates?" Spock Prime asked, clasping his hands against his chest as he looked on Spock expectantly.

"That would be an accurate observation," Spock agreed. He thought back to a moment he and the older Vulcan had shared at Starfleet before he applied as First Officer under Jim's captaincy. "You mentioned that the captain and I would establish a friendship that would define us both."

"Yes, I recall that I did," Spock Prime nodded thoughtfully. "Do you find my belief to be accurate?"

"I believe Jim and I have the foundations to such a relationship," Spock responded as he thought back on the hours he had spent conversing with the captain. "Doctor McCoy and I have also related to each other more closely than we initially did."

The older man turned away from Spock to face the opposite wall as though looking back on his memories that were surely crossing through his mind. The muscles around Spock Prime mouth twitched momentarily and Spock wondered if he was about to smile.

"Similar to how my friendships with them began. The doctor and I were not partial to each other's company until months after Jim and I had a firm bond between us." There was another pause in which the muscles twitched again before the lined face fell back into its usual stoic appearance. He turned to his younger self with a spark of curiosity in his glassy eyes. "In this new timeline, you were engaged in a romantic relationship with Lieutenant Uhura, am I correct?

"Yes," Spock admitted. He wondered if his older self would approve of such an attachment. At his affirmative answer, nothing altered on the ambassador's countenance that caught Spock's attention during his acute scrutiny.

"Do you wish to continue that relationship when you return to the _Enterprise_?" Spock Prime prodded with all the emotion of a scientist. He seemed to be conducting a research proposal rather than engage in a casual conversation about relationships.

"I do not feel that would be possible under given circumstances," Spock responded. Nyota had once compared Vulcans to dancers. She claimed they were likely to sidestep and twist away from answering direct questions if they did not want to answer. At the time, he had found her response to be illogical, but endearing.

"Logic aside," Spock Prime stated with an air of waving aside Spock's previous answer, "would you to continue your relationship with her?'

Logic aside. Logic and circumstances aside. Six months with only a memory and a single, brief, angered conversation on monitors. In the fabled, perfect world, Spock knew his answer immediately.

"Yes," he answered with a slight catch in his throat. He swallowed hard to clear any impediments. "My feelings for her are unchanged."

"Fascinating."

For the first time since Nyota was mentioned, Spock saw something change in the older man's face. A single eyebrow quirked in its usual manner, but the muscles around the eyes tightened and the lips thinned. It was not an unfriendly expression, merely an enriched one.

"From the little you have said about Nyota, I assume your friendship with her never cumulated into a more intimate relationship," Spock stated, faintly curious about the other timeline that he knew so little about.

"No," Spock Prime confirmed. "During our time at the Academy when I taught her, she appeared to harbor affection towards myself. That affection continued during our early days aboard the _Enterprise_, though I never formally returned her feelings." He stopped speaking for a moment and his lips formed a thin, straight line. Spock recognized the gesture as something he often did himself when examining old information at a new angle. "There were moments when I thought perhaps a deeper relationship could exist between the two of us, however I never acted upon them. Eventually, her feelings dissipated and we continued our friendship for the remainder of her life."

Neither Vulcan moved on the bench as they both sat in contemplative silence, wondering what life would have been like if they had made different decisions. Spock finally broke the silence with a softer voice than he has used all day.

"Whom did she marry?"

Spock Prime paused in his thoughts to look at his younger self in heavily-veiled surprise at the gentle tone.

"Uhura never married. It was a surprise to all of us, I am sure."

Spock felt a momentary wave of relief and released a short breath.

"During our travels, many of the crew members expressed an interest," the ambassador continued. "Mr. Chekov flirted with her at the Academy, but I believe she was infatuated with myself at the time and thus did not return his sentiments. There were many incidents between Uhura and the captain, though nothing substantial ever resulted. Years after our initial five year mission, our bridge crew was reunited on another mission. It was then that Uhura confessed to caring deeply for Mr. Scott, yet he did not feel the same."

Spock's relief was brief, stopped in its proverbial tracks at this new information. Nyota was not the sort of woman to go without admirers, he knew that without a shadow of a doubt. Her beauty, intelligence, grace, everything that made her who she was… It was undeniable, unspeakable, unbelievable. To deny someone of her presence was a punishment in itself. But to know that in some other universe Nyota did not get the chance to show her love to him, that he could not return her love… It was hardly bearable. The knowledge churned his stomach that in another timeline, days and years had gone by and she moved on, even tried to share her love with Mr. Scott. Bile coated his throat as he wondered how events would transpire once he returned to the _Enterprise_.

"Do you believe I shall have a chance to reunite with her?"

He spoke cautiously and knew he sounded like a small child. Still, he could not repress the urge to know what the ambassador thought. They exchanged glances and Spock felt uncomfortable and unusual as though his humanity were visibly showing. He could not shed the feeling that he would never feel at peace with himself as a Vulcan or a human. The older Vulcan seemed to sense the inner turmoil but could do nothing to relieve it.

"Many things have changed in this new timeline. The Uhura you know is not the same as the Uhura I was so familiar with. With insufficient knowledge, I cannot make an accurate assumption."

It was a logical answer. It should have comforted Spock in his fit of barely controlled humanity. But it did not.

* * *

Spock Prime received the communication that the _Enterprise_ had arrived and the captain and the doctor were about to beam down. The two men stood from their bench and walked outside to greet the others.

Spock looked over at the older Vulcan and saw with interest that the wizened eyes did not cease in gazing across the sky above them as though looking for the ship.

"You wish to return," he realized, recognizing the small mannerisms that indicated the same excitement that he dimly felt.

"Yes," the ambassador nodded. "I can honestly say that I would like to return to the _Enterprise_ more than I would like nearly anything else." But I had my time with the crew. It is now your time to rejoin them and to have your own experiences."

There was a silence in which Spock felt scrutinized under those lined eyes. He nodded briskly, inwardly grateful to be accepted back onto the starship.

"Your father and I shall both miss your company," Spock Prime continued, apparently satisfied with the nod. "If the _Enterprise_ should ever fly near New Vulcan, I ask that you visit."

"If it is possible, I will certainly visit," Spock agreed. Despite the anger he felt towards the prejudice mindset of most of the inhabitants of New Vulcan, he anticipated the next time he would visit his father or Spock Prime.

Before either Spock could say anything further, two forms began to materialize before them. They watched in silence as the forms took on the familiar shapes of Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy and waited until the forms were solid before greeting them.

"Captain, Doctor," Spock inclined his head towards them.

"Spock," Kirk responded as McCoy nodded. "Hello, Ambassador," Kirk added, turning to the older man.

"It is good to see you both again," Spock Prime intoned in his deep cadence.

"Likewise," Jim smiled warmly. "Sorry we can't stay longer and talk, but we have a schedule to keep to."

"Indeed." The older Vulcan shifted so that he stood with locked legs and his hands behind his back. "I must return to our city as soon as our Spock leaves. Also, it would not serve you well to remain in this climate for long."

McCoy nodded vigorously and Spock noticed the doctor adorned a short sleeved medical shirt instead of the usual long sleeved garment.

"I'm glad you're coming back," Jim said, turning his beaming smile to Spock. The usual glimmer in his eyes seemed brighter and Spock felt an immediate sense of friendship radiate from the captain.

"It's just been so emotional without you there," the doctor added with sarcasm. His tone was gruff, but the ambassador's slight upturn of his lips reassured Spock that the comment was meant with affection.

"You ready?" he asked Spock in the same grumpy voice.

"Yes, Doctor."

Jim snapped open his communicator, "Beam us up, _Enterprise_!"

The golden sheen covered the bodies as they transported to the _Enterprise_. In the last moment, Spock raised his hand in the customary salute to his older self. The ambassador stared in his direction with his own salute.

"_I'wak mesukh-yut t'on_."

The older Vulcan's words echoed within him before Spock's vision went momentarily black as he disappeared into the interior of the famed starship.

* * *

_**Note**: "I'wak mesukha-yut t'on" means "the present is the crossroads of both future and past." Thank you, Vulcan Language Dictionary!_

_So yes. No confrontation. Yet. But it's going to be wonderful when it happens. :D_

_Please review and let me know what you thought of the chapter! More Chekov/Uhura love-ness, more Kirk-humor/caring, more Leonard Nimoy/prime universe! lol I hope you enjoyed. Please review!_


	11. Clash of Love

_Confrontation time! Thank you to everyone who voted who Spock should have the argument with. Results are as shown:  
Spock and Chekov: 8  
Spock and Uhura: 2  
Spock and Kirk: 2  
Spock and McCoy: 1 (suggested by )  
As you can see, Chekov won the tally. :D_

_Anyway, this chapter was originally going to be a bit longer, but I really wanted to get the confrontation out to you guys as quickly as possible since I didn't have it in the last chapter like I said I would._

_**Note**: You may notice that I lightened up on Chekov's accent some for this chapter. I kept most of the typical accent-bits, but I deliberately omitted some so that his anger would not seem comical. So please do not review to tell me that I messed up on some of his pronunciations. I took artistic license with his voice._

_**Disclaimer**: I own a homemade birthday card for my mom (Say "Happy Birthday, mama katia!"), but not Star Trek._

* * *

The Bridge was uncannily silent when Spock entered. He had finished placing his personal effects in his new quarters and had been ordered by Jim to join him on the Bridge and resume his duties as the head Science Officer. The Bridge had not altered its appearance in any significant way as far as he could tell from his quick assessment of the room. Everyone sat in their usual seats and the only noticeable change was the small, blue-clad woman sitting at his former station.

"Welcome back, Mr. Spock," she said as she stood up in a sign of respect.

"Thank you, Officer Ruiz," he replied, nodding at her respectful stance. She offered a slight smile that seemed to naturally borderline on a smirk. Spock raised his eyebrows marginally and sat down to reclaim his previous position.

"She did a bang up job as the Science Officer while you were gone," Jim called from his captain's chair with an appreciative look at Ruiz.

"Thanks, Captain," she responded with a bit more familiarity in her voice than she had used with Spock. She continued to stand near the Science station as though waiting for permission to leave for her new assignment.

"You will continue your former research duty on Deck C," Jim informed her before pressing a few buttons on the side of his chair to indicate to Deck C that Ruiz would be returning.

Without a spare glance at anyone on the Bridge, Ruiz walked to the turbolift. She took a detour around Jim's chair to stand near Nyota. She paused for a single moment to place a gripped hand onto the slim, scarlet-clothed shoulder. Leaning in, she whispered in a low voice that would have escaped anyone else's hearing, but Spock heard with perfect clarity due to his heightened auditory sense.

"I still think you should have gone with my ditch idea."

The whisper was slightly harsh, but with a somewhat mocking tone mixed within the tart intonation. Spock was momentarily confused by her context, but any thought of the meaning escaped him as Nyota laughed gently. Ruiz turned on her heel and completed her route to the lift as Nyota pressed a pointed knuckle to her lips to conceal the spreading smile on her face.

He turned away to face his monitor before she could glimpse his vigilant eyes. There was no necessary reason to observe her movements. It would not benefit anyone to continue watching Nyota when he should have been focusing on his scientific readings.

But in his mind, he replayed the smooth cadence of her laughter, inwardly captured by the sensual combination of her fingers and hands.

* * *

Apparently, Ruiz was not nearly as forgiving as she appeared. Common gossip filled the corners of the _Enterprise_ and it was midway through dinner with Jim and Doctor McCoy when he overheard a gaggle of multi-colored dresses floated by them, giggling and gossiping.

Though he did not turn his head to face them, they were speaking just loudly enough so that Spock could not block their voices from his sensitive ears. Kirk and McCoy were less discreetly looking at the women, though Spock deduced that it was to visually document the aesthetically pleasing aspects of the crew members.

Somewhere between the ear-splitting giggles and the excited conversation, Spock understood that Ruiz had confided in one of these girls that she was angered by Spock's sudden appearance that thusly stripped her of her heightened position. None of the girls explicitly mocked or insulted Spock. They merely shared their own opinions about Ruiz's emotional outburst that she managed to suppress until she exited the Bridge earlier that day.

Such a reaction was not surprising to Spock. He had previously realized that his return to the _Enterprise_ and his subsequent return to his previous positions on the Bridge as Science Officer and Commander would inevitably move others to their previous rank. Jim had informed him that Sulu had taken over his duties as first officer while he was gone, but now no longer held the same rank. Ruiz was located back on Deck C as the head science officer on the deck. The crewmember that had replaced Ruiz on the deck was then reduced back to a lower station and so on and so forth.

The girls continued the conversation and carried on to new, supposedly interesting topics. McCoy continued to silently appraise a particular brunette's intricate hairstyle and pixie nose, but Jim noticed that Spock had ceased eating.

"Is something the matter, Spock?" he questioned, gesturing to Spock's long-fingered hand that rested beside his discarded fork.

"I only just realized the ramifications of my return to the Bridge," he explained, staring into the bright blue eyes of his captain and friend.

"Well, life goes on," Jim shrugged, spearing the pasta on his plate. "We didn't know you'd be back."

"Providing replacements was a logical move," Spock agreed. Jim looked at him for a moment longer, as though expecting Spock to continue talking. But Spock could think of nothing else to say on the matter and moved his eyes away from the captain's. He had considered Sulu to be a friend of his and hoped that he did not harbor such ill feelings towards him as Ruiz apparently did.

Spock wondered for how much longer he would feel as though he was apologizing for every course of action he had taken in his life.

His muses were interrupted a few moments later when Jim proposed that they retire to the recreational room.

"It's been a long day and we're all off duty. Let's take the rest of the night off to relax," he suggested, glancing between McCoy and Spock.

"You're still a captain, even off duty," McCoy responded with a roll of his eyes.

"You just don't want to deal with other people," Jim replied with narrowed eyes, calling the doctor out. "We're going to the rec room and that's the captain's orders." He smirked as the doctor sighed in annoyance. "Your people skills make me want to cry."

McCoy grumbled an insult in response, but nullified his displeasure by rising from his seat with his tray and heading over to the trash receptacles. Jim grinned dazzlingly at Spock before they both followed the doctor's lead and threw out their trash.

Still feeling disjointed after his time apart, Spock did not join in the conversation between Jim and McCoy as they discussed their opinions about the next planet they were scheduled to beam down on within the week. Both of them tried to engage Spock in the conversation by asking for his input. Spock answered them diligently, but did not expand upon his answers any more than necessary.

When they reached the rec room, it was already buzzing with slight energy. A handful of crewmembers from security had taken refuge in one of the corners and were casually talking about trivial manners. They greeted Jim with a respectful wave and Jim grinned back in response, saluting to his crewmen.

"Over here," came a melodious call from the other side of the room. Spock stiffened in response and turned to see Nyota sitting casually on one of the plush seats with Nurse Chapel. Chapel smiled bright at the three men as they approached.

"Hello, ladies," Jim said with his usual debonair charm as he sat on the arm of the chair that Chapel rested in. She giggled in response and McCoy rolled his eyes as he dropped himself in a third chair.

All the chairs were taken and Spock did not wish to sit as unconventionally as the captain, so he remained standing. He was acutely aware that Nyota was staring at him unabashedly. An uncomfortable feeling settled around the group as everyone watched Nyota as she watched Spock.

"It's nice to see you back on the _Enterprise_," she said simply, and he finally turned to face her completely. He was greeted with a small, gentle smile as she stood from her chair. Without responding to her sentiment, he watched as she sat herself on the floor. She sat directly in front of Chapel and leaned against the pale legs, wordlessly offering her chair to Spock.

Her intoxicating scent lingered on the fabric and swaddled him as he slowly sat in her chair. He could still feel the relative warmth left behind from her small frame as he placed his arms firmly on the arms beside him, keeping his back stiff and unrelenting against the plush back of the chair.

As always, Jim appeared uncomfortable with the awkward silence that seemed to follow Spock wherever he frequented. He soon quipped up the conversation that he and McCoy had carried on during their walk to the recreation room. The women added their opinions and even Spock added his own thoughts.

The awkwardness quickly disappeared as the others filled Spock in on the missions he had been absent from attending. He questioned any discoveries they had made and listened with interest as McCoy and Chapel informed him of a plant they had salvaged from an almost desolate planet that consisted of medical properties that would alleviate migraines. However, his attentions kept divorcing from the topic at hand as Nyota unknowingly caught his eye.

He found himself momentarily thoughtless as he listened to her lilting laugh as she enjoyed a joke from Chapel. Her slight movements as she crossed one svelte ankle over the other and the flash of her manicured hands as she lightly smacked the captain's knee were quickly committed to Spock's memory. Chapel had freed Nyota's hair from her usual ponytail and was moving her small fingers through the hair that Spock knew from past experiences to be softer than any fabric he had ever felt. His fingers twitched longingly on the chair arms as Chapel absentmindedly braided Nyota's tresses.

The conversation continued for a couple hours as several groups of crewmembers drifted in and out until they were the only people left in the room at 100 hours.

"Well, I don't know about you folks, but I have to be up by eight tomorrow morning for my shift," McCoy finally said, rubbing his hands together. He stood from the chair and Nyota pulled her knees to her chest to provide a clear path for McCoy to walk through. Spock's breath caught in his throat as he glimpsed a brief image of her bare, smooth upper thigh. He pushed his mounting, internal emotions aside and determinedly fixed his eyes on the blank wall beyond Jim's head.

"Yeah, it's probably time for me to head to bed, too," Jim agreed with a frown. He stood from the chair's arm and stretch before extending his hand to Chapel with a winsome smile. "May I escort you to your quarters, milady?"

"Thank you, but no thank you, Captain. I'm sure I can manage," she said with a giggle. She nudged Nyota with her foot until Nyota stood from her spot on the floor and allowed Chapel to rise from the chair.

McCoy chided Jim against flirting with his nurses as they exited the room. Chapel was quick to defend herself against what she deemed was unnecessary and overprotective behavior on the doctor's behalf.

Spock also stood from his seat, unsure of what to do next. He assumed they would all exit the rec room and return to their quarters, but Nyota had not moved from where she positioned herself a few feet away from him.

She smiled warmly as she watched her friends exit and shook her head to herself. Then the smile switched from one of amusement to one of tenderness as she turned to face Spock.

"We should go to our quarters," he informed her and made to walk past her. This situation was growing uncomfortable again and he did not wish to remain in her presence without anyone else nearby.

She did not touch his elbow or move in front of his path, but something in the way she continued to look at him halted his steps. He faced her once more, wondering the purpose behind why she was still looking at him with that same tender smile.

"I meant it when I said it was nice to see you back on the Enterprise," she told him without blinking.

"I never thought you to be a liar," he responded, folding his hands behind his back.

"I've missed you."

At her quiet words, the longing he felt in his chest grew in triple fold as he studied her soft features. He could not find the appropriate words to express how he felt at that moment and did not know how best to tell her that he, too, had missed her.

Before he could think of anything to say, she gave him an odd expression with furrowed brows before she opened her mouth to continue speaking.

"You've missed a lot while you've been gone. A lot has changed" she told him. Despite her obvious unease, she did not look anywhere around the room and kept her eyes on his face unwaveringly.

"Undoubtedly," he said, fully aware that his voice had dropped nearly an octave. The silence pressed around them and she bit her lip in a way that made him close his eyes for a moment before he could look at her again.

He took a few steps forward and placed his hands on her forearms. It felt as though his body was moving of his own accord, physically completing all the intangible thoughts quickly forming in his mind.

"Spock," she said firmly, but not unkindly as she wrapped her fingers around his wrists and pulled his hands away from her. Nyota forced him away from her and took a step back to avoid his touch.

"I don't know if Kirk or McCoy already told you, but I know that I don't want you to find out through ship gossip," she paused for a moment. "Pavel and I are together now."

Nyota stood silently, studying his face for his reaction. Using all the emotional suppression tactics that he had been taught as a smile child, Spock kept his face blank. He revealed none of the twist and burn that simmered in the pit of his stomach, threatening to spill over his person.

"Thank you for informing me," he finally responded. Regardless of his control over his reaction, he could not stop the subtle catch in his voice.

Perceptive as always, Nyota heard and understood the catch and her sympathetic eyes scorched him. He desperately wished to run, but the impulse was irrational as there was nowhere for Spock to escape to. Instead of running away, he continued to stand motionless in the rec room, feeling entirely surreal against his surroundings of overstuffed chairs and game tables.

She opened her mouth as though she wanted to say something else, but clearly nothing she could think of could assuage him and thus she ran the back of her hand against the frame of his cheek. He did not lean into her touch as he would have seven months ago and waited until the cool skin parted from his face.

Without a further word or glance between them, she walked away though the doors. Spock waited several minutes before exiting to ensure that their paths would not cross.

* * *

Spock had been back aboard the _Enterprise_ for nearly a week and since he had returned, he had pointedly avoided eye contact with Chekov. Chekov would have wondered about Spock's colder-than-usual indifference if Nyota had not told him the day after Spock's arrival that she had informed him about their relationship.

Instead, he wore a smug look on his face whenever he and Spock had overlapping shifts on the Bridge.

Chekov was not an idiot though. He was the youngest person ever admitted onto a starship and he did not get there by being moronic. He knew without question of a doubt that the moment would come when he and Spock would have to address the elephant in the room.

That moment came on Chekov's only day off that week. Nyota's shift ended in two hours and he was spending some time in the gym. It was hard enough to fight off dangerous alien species without lacking strength on top of everything else.

The gym was located on the opposite side of the ship from the Bridge and was well equipped with both modern exercising machines and also traditional weight lifts as well. As per usual, Chekov opted to lift weights. Often, he would come to the gym with Sulu and they would talk as they built up their strength.

Today, Sulu was needed on the Bridge and thus Chekov was left on his own. He did not mind the solitude and concentrated on his work with the weights. After a few moments of deliberation, he choose the twenty-five pound weights to begin with and would gradually work up to heavier weights.

A fellow crew member had turned on the room's radio and Chekov listened to some techno band blaring against the green walls of the room as he found a small, open area to work out. He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart and took a moment to relax the muscles in his neck and back. Inhaling, he braced his leg muscles and held the weight firmly in his hand. He brought the black barbell closer to his neck, holding his breath through the most difficult part of the bend and then releasing as he relaxed his arm.

Chekov worked his curls in rhythm to the music, even shutting his eyes to focus on the stretch and contraction of his muscles as they worked furiously to bring the weight to his shoulder. He placed a hand on the working muscle and felt the sinewy mass bulge under his palm with each curl.

Beads of sweat formed on his brow, causing his curls to stick to his forehead. More sweat gathered across his chest and he debated with himself over whether or not he should take his wife beater off when a small cough broke his concentration.

Opening his stormy eyes, his vision immediately landed upon the tall figure standing near him. Spock looked entirely out of place in the gym with his pressed black slacks and typical blue shirt. Chekov felt prominently informal and under ranked in his navy sweats and white tank top.

"Commander," he greeted without a trace of his usual good humor on his face.

"There is a matter that I aim to speak with you about," Spock said in his usual clipped manner.

"Alright. Vhat do you vant to talk about?" Chekov asked, walking across the room to return the barbells. If Spock wanted to talk to him about what Chekov thought was coming, he figured he would not be lifting weights for a good amount of time.

"It is a personal matter. I believe we would have more success if we spoke in private," Spock responded, still standing like a statue where Chekov had first seen him. He paused for a moment and looked at Chekov with one quirked eyebrow. Chekov motioned for the Vulcan to follow him into one of the private training rooms.

Flipping on the lights, he walked in with Spock on his tails. He turned around to face his commanding officer with pursed lips and an indignant expression. As a Vulcan, he figured Spock would not beat around the bush to get to his point.

True to his nature, Spock shut the door behind him and immediately began speaking to Chekov.

"You and Nyota are together."

"Yes, sir," Chekov nodded, his sweaty hair was still stuck to his forehead and could not move freely. His words were polite, but his tone hinted at his true, dominate feelings.

"When did this transpire?" Spock inquired evenly without a moment's pause.

"After you left," Chekov answered, his brow furrowing. His arm was starting to ache from the number of reps he had down. He clutched his right arm and stretch out the muscles before they could stiffen.

Spock watched his actions as though Chekov were performing a one-man show just for Spock's enjoyment. A few more seconds of silence stifled the ringing of impatience in Chekov's mind before he finally blurted out an angered comment, lacking all tones of propriety.

"Did you really think she vould vait for you?"

The Vulcan did not stiffen, did not even blink. His unfazed appearance boiled Chekov's blood and the muscles in his legs grew taunt as he stood his ground.

"That is-" Spock began before Chekov cut him off.

"No, let me finish," he barked. "Did you really think she vould vait for you? Did you think you could leave to get a Wulcan wife and become a Wulcan father and not ewen see her for God-knows-how-long and still think she vould be here vaiting for you?"

He pulled himself up to his full height. He was still many inches shorter than Spock, but his anger was empowering him. "You've known Nyota ewen longer than I have. Has anything that she has ewer said or done led you to believe that she is the sort of person who vould pine ower someone who abandoned her?"

"I did not abandon her," Spock said quietly. There was something flashing in his eyes that should have been a warning to Chekov, but he was too fired up to notice.

"You left!" he yelled. His words reverberated against the blank walls of the room and he was sure that the other crewmembers outside could hear, but he did not care. "You left, you vent away!"

"I had a duty to my people," Spock continued as though Chekov had never spoken. Spock embodied the perfect Vulcan and showed no emotion save for the strained tones of his voice.

"Did you know she cried?" Chekov snapped, halting Spock's argument. "Vhen you ended your relationship with her, did you know she cried?"

The silence that ensued proved to him that Spock had, indeed, not known. For the first time, a stricken look crossed his countenance.

"This might be difficult for you," Chekov continued in a deadly quiet voice, "but try to imagine how she must have felt." He let the veiled insult settle for a moment and watched as the muscle in Spock's jaw tightened. "People don't just cry, especially not Nyota. She is the strongest voman I have ewer met and you managed to make her cry."

A bitterness filled his mouth like cotton and he moved closer to the stony Vulcan. The ground seemed to shift underneath him as the biting anger snapped under his skin.

"How can you say you cared for her vhen you are the one who made her cry like that? Who left her like that?"

He stared deep into the brown of Spock's eyes, undaunted by their human shape. When he spoke, he wanted Spock to understand to the best of his abilities what he had done to Nyota.

"You hurt her," he spat out.

"That was never my intention," Spock defended evenly.

"I know it vasn't your intention," Chekov said in frustration, "but that doesn't erase the fact that it happened. She _cried_. She vas _hurt_. You veren't there to make her feel better."

He took a deep breath as he remembered her dejected state so many months ago. Her watery eyes filled his memory and caused his fists to clench tightly at his sides.

"I vas there. I newer left her."

"Under different circumstances," Spock began again, but Chekov was unrelenting.

"No," he shook his head vehemently, "I don't vant to hear your excuse. You don't deserve her."

That was it. He had crossed the line. He knew he had crossed the line, had gone beyond anything he should have said to someone of such high rank on this ship. But it did not matter. He could not bring himself to care over such trivial matters. What mattered right now was showing Spock the painful extent of what he had done.

"Ensign, I am the Commander of this ship," Spock said with a trace of anger in his deep voice. He took a step towards Chekov and raised his hand slightly as though to administer the Vulcan Nerve Pinch.

"Don't do that!" Chekov snapped, swinging his aching arm to smack Spock's arm away from him. He took a few steps back to avoid the Vulcan, but underneath his fury, he knew that he would not stand a chance against Spock if he truly wanted to hurt him. "Don't try to pull your authority ower me. I vant you to tell me if you truly think you deserve her."

Chekov breathed heavily though his nose, trying to calm himself down. He wanted nothing better than to punch Spock. But he knew Vulcans were three times stronger than humans and would not fare well against the backlash. Also, if he hit Spock, Nyota would never forgive him. He would not be able to handle her anger if it was directed towards him. They had come so far, he could not ruin things between them.

"You are Wulcan. Wulcans do not lie," he continued with perseverance. "Do you deserve her? Or does she deserve someone who vill make her smile and laugh? Who vill newer leave her to mate with some other voman?"

Electricity crackled through the air at his last statement and Chekov wondered if he had crossed a line. All small traces of guilt ebbed away as Spock purposely avoided the direct question and looked on with his cold expression.

"I had a duty to my people. It was an unfortunate situation," he stated firmly. There was a trace of remorse in the older man's voice, but it was not enough to curb Chekov's frustrations.

"If you truly loved her and then had to leave her, it would be much worse than _unfortunate_," he snapped with acid in his low voice. "She deserves better."

The arms that had been pressed tightly to his side finally released as he throw his arms up impassionedly into the air and gestured forcefully at himself, jabbing his sweaty chest with his thumbs.

"_I_ hawve been her friend for years and _I _hawve cared for her since the day I met her. Don't fool yourself into thinking that you are the only person who cares for her," he nearly shouted at the Vulcan. There was a beat, a pause while Chekov slid his hands down to dangle at his sides. He panted with exertion and flicked the edge of his tongue on his lips to wet them. His next words whispered over the slick mouth. "I love her."

Spock raised a single eyebrow and his mouth formed a thin line across his pale face. Chekov let the gravity of his words sink into the thick exterior of the man in front of him and simultaneously felt a wave of relief and happiness wash over his stressed, tense frame. It was the first time he had admitted those words out loud and the liberating sensation was instantaneous.

"And even if she hadn't fallen for me," he spoke in the same tender tone that he saved for those he cared most about, "she still would have moved on away from you. Nyota is not the sort of girl who just vaits around to be cared about. Someone like her," he looked off to the side, away from Spock as though expecting her to appear in all her glory beside him, "she vill alvays have someone to take care of her."

He paused and straightened up slightly to look Spock directly in the eye.

"And for as long as she lets me, I'm going to be that person."

Spock pressed his fingers together and raised the tips of his index fingers to his mouth in a perfect display of internal meditation. After a few moments of contemplation, he removed his hands and inclined his head towards the younger man panting with exertion and unadulterated emotion.

"You love her."

"Yes," Chekov nodded, wiping a quick hand across his forehead to keep the rolling beads of sweat from his vision.

"The logical thing to do," Spock began slowly, but Chekov didn't want to hear anything about rationality.

"Screw logic," he threw out, ignoring the stricken look that flashed across Spock's face before it settled back into its original blank state. "I've said ewerything I need to say. We're done here. I'm leaving."

He let his words hang behind him as he marched out the door in a whirl of stagnant, indignant anger, not even looking back to watch Spock leave the gym. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he saw that he still had an hour until Nyota finished work.

For the next thirty minutes, he wailed his fists against the punching bag in a succession of fast, hard punches and hits that bloodied his knuckles against the cold, stiff leather.

* * *

_Angry Chekov is angry._

_So... Did you like it? Did you like Chekov's impassioned anger? Did you like the thought of him sweaty and muscle-y? If so, you're welcome._

_I just want to say a quick thank you to **J-Awesomeness**, **Amethyst Jewels**, and **joeperrysbabe** who helped me with Chekov's accent. And a thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorite, alerted, and lurked. If I could, I would hug you all._

_Chapter 12 will hopefully be posted shortly. :D Please review and tell me what you thought of the chapter! I hope the confrontation was everything you hoped it would be!_


	12. Melding of Emotional Minds

_(This is currently 107 pages, single spaced on Microsoft Word. The most I have ever written for anything. Ever. Wow. Okay, excessive pride is over.)_

_As you can tell from the title of the chapter, this deals with Vulcan mind melds. I took a few more artistic liberties and wrote Spock's insight with a sort of poetic flair. I think thoughts are always much more poetic and lyrical before they are finally formalized into words. Without any restraints during a mind meld, I think Spock would have a few more liberties with his speech. Anyway, I had so much fun writing these mind meld scenes. I nearly cried writing them, I literally had tears in my eyes. Please, please let me know what you thought of them. Their style is lyrical and more dance-like than informative. I hope you get the same, heart-felt sensation as I did._

_**Disclaimer**: I own a suitcase full of clothes, but not Star Trek._

* * *

His bloodstained tank top was soaking wet and sitting in his sink. Chekov had tried to wash the blood from it, but deep red never fully disappears from white fabric. It was his own fault though, he figured. He was the one who decided to use his tank as a make-shift bandage after he left the gym to head back to his dorm.

The shower had been steaming hot as he tried to relax in the cramped capsule. But the anger he had felt from his argument with Spock had not fully dissipated. But the sweaty stench and some of the tension disappeared under the beat of the hot water and he decided that was as close as he was going to get.

When he stepped out of the steam-filled shower capsule, he tossed the soaked shirt to dry in the sink and threw on a fresh pair of sweatpants before collapsing onto his bed. He groaned as his sore back made contact with the firm mattress while sliding his left arm under the back of his head.

The ceiling stared back at him as blank and solid as Spock's face and Chekov shut his eyes to block off the image. The stress of the day and the inevitable tiredness associated with working on a starship finally caught up with him and he could feel his consciousness drifting away as his breathing slowed and his body achieved perceived weightlessness.

Half-formed thoughts and ideas were materializing in his mind, images of colorful dreams, when he heard a knock at his door.

Opening his tired eyes, he checked the clock next to him to see that it was a few minutes past the end of Nyota's shift.

"Come in," he called to her without rising from his bed. She entered with a bright grin that dropped from her face when she saw his haggard form on the bed.

"Everything okay?" she asked with deep concern. Nyota quickly padded across the room in her shiny boots until she sat on the side of his bed, facing him and trailing her fingers lightly along his fine hairline..

"Tired. My arm is killing me from the gym," he mumbled, nuzzling his cheek against her smooth knee that was conveniently located next to his face. She giggled softly at his administrations and moved her hand to the arm not trapped under his head. She pressed lightly against the aching muscles, gentling relieving some of the tightness.

Her smiling face and kind gestures were killing him on the inside and he knew that he needed to tell her what happened between Spock and himself at the gym. As he considered the best way to break the news to her, her dancing fingers pressed their way down his pliable flesh until they circled around the thin skin of his wrist. Bringing the wrist closer to her mouth, Nyota pressed her lips against his pulse in a sweet gesture.

His conflicted expression must have confused her because her maple eyes lost some of their happy glow as she looked at his face.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, tightening her hold on his wrist, silently urging him to answer her.

Chekov took a deep breath and opened his mouth for a moment, but no sound was uttered. He was unsure of how to begin verbally and instead twisted the arm she held until his battered knuckles faced in her direction.

"What did you do?" she breathed as she examined the minor cuts. She eyed the bruises that were quickly forming on his snowy skin.

"Spock came in," Chekov started slowly, avoiding her eyes.

"You hit him?!" she shrieked in shock and anger. Her tone caused him to wince, forced him to face her and stare into her blazing eyes.

"No!" he stressed, shifting his arm so that it reached the side of her waist and his hand squeezed the toned muscle under her dress. "No, nothing like that," he reassured her, applying pressure through each of his fingers until he watched her expression calm down. Soon, the anger on her face was replaced with a wary look.

"Ve argued, but I newer hit him. He didn't hit me either. We just… talked," he finished for lack of anything better to say.

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms across her chest with a flare of attitude. "Talked?"

"Well, I yelled at him," he explained hesitantly. Her expression did not change and her arms did not lower. An image of Spock's imperial stance flashed across his mind, causing Chekov's blood to boil for a moment. "And he just stood there, quiet and blank and…" He trailed off, trying to search for the right word to describe the stony man.

"Vulcan," Nyota whispered in understanding. Her expression softened and her arms uncrossed to lie restlessly in her lap.

"Da," Chekov nodded. His shower-damp curls brushed against the tops of his ears. "I hated it."

He removed his left arm from under his head and tried to ignore the stiffness of the joint when he rotated his shoulder to lean back on his elbow. In this raised position, he was even closer to Nyota and could see every separate lash fringed around her oval eyes.

"How could you stand it?" he asked in near exasperation, referring to her past relationship with Spock.

She stared at him for a long moment, her head leaning to the side. Her eyebrows drew together in a thoughtful stare. After a few moments of flickering eyes and drawing her plump lip between her incisors, she gave a half-hearted smile and shrugged. Leaning down on her forearm, she twirled her body around on the mattress, using her free arm to push against his side until he moved over to give her half of the tiny bed.

Chekov slumped onto his pillow as Nyota held herself flush against his heated body. Wrapping his sore arm around her narrow shoulders felt perfectly natural and she snuggled closer against his rib cage. One dark hand laid flat against his bare chest, her fingers spread-eagle against his slight muscles.

"What did you fight about?" she mumbled. Her lips inadvertently brushed against the sensitive skin beside his pectorals and her hot breath pressed against the flesh in a wonderfully comfortable way.

"You," he answered, unsure of how to sum up the entire confrontation he had had with Spock.

At his words, Nyota pressed firmly against his chest to lift herself up, leaning over him with an indignant look across her graceful features.

"I'm not some prize to be won," she informed him with a feminist bite to her words. She pursed her lips for a moment and he reached out a hand to cup her cheek.

"I know, I know," he promised as he pressed his hand to the warmth of her face, his palm bend against the curve of her cheekbone.

Believing his sincere tone, she stared hard at him for a fleeting moment before sighing and returning to her previous position against his side. His arm found its way around her shoulders once more and lazily traced his fingers up and down her spine.

"You didn't hit him?" she repeated, turning her head towards his to look into his eyes as she asked for reassurance.

"I vanted to," he admitted darkly. His hand halted its trail down her back and his fingers formed a tight fist as his frustration was brought back to the surface as he remembered his anger towards Spock.

"But you didn't?" she pressed. She tapped her purple coated nails against his chest to calm him down and goose bumps erupted across his flesh.

"No, of course not," he confirmed with a shake of his head that brushed his curls against her forehead. He watched as she shut her eyes against the assault of brown hair that came too close to her vision.

"I finally got you in bed," he teased gently, leaning down slightly to touch his forehead against hers. "You think I vould mess things up now?"

She stared at him, her eyes unfocused due to his closeness before she pulled away slightly to chuckle quietly into his shoulder.

"You always make me laugh," she said against the firm skin of his upper arm.

"I alvays try to," he answered softly, turning his head a few degrees to place a kiss on the crown of her head. She moved closer to him in response and placed her head on the junction between his neck and shoulder.

"I wish you hadn't yelled at him," Nyota confessed as her purple fingertips rotated in small circles, swirling down to his abdomen.

"He hurt you," Chekov said in his defense. He watched her hand idly as she fingered the light trail of hair located on his stomach. "He wants to be with you again, you know," he continued, eyeing her to judge her reaction.

"Too bad for him," she said with the best shrug she could muster given her horizontal position. Chekov tightened his grip around her at her words as an ecstatic grin decorated his face.

"Are you mad at me?" he whispered. He was fairly certain that she was not angered by his actions, but he wanted to hear her reassurance to know for sure how she felt right then.

"No," she shook her head on his shoulder and the tip of her nose rested against his clavicle. "I wish you hadn't, but I understand why you did."

They laid in relative silence for a several minutes, listening only to the gentle sound of each other's breathing.

"Do you want to go to dinner?" she asked across the quiet space between them with slight curiosity.

"Nyet," he denied, as he struggled to keep his heavy eyelids open. "I am wery tired. You can go to dinner if you vant though. I do not vant to keep you here if you're hungry."

"Trying to get rid of me?" she joked. He shook his head sleepily, finally allowing his eyes to slide shut. "Do you want me to stay for a while longer?"

"I vould like that wery much," he muttered as coherently as he possibly could as the thick slumber crept through his mind and body.

She said nothing in response, but lifted her head momentarily to place a chaste kiss to his lips. He barely had time to respond to her touch before she lowered her head back to his shoulder. He breathed in her spicy scent as she curled up even closer beside him, draping a long, toned, and booted leg across his own sweatpants-clad legs. His last thought before finally succumbing to the whirls of sleep dancing in his mind were that he wished he wore shorts instead to feel as much of her skin on his as possible.

--

Uhura was almost amused by how quickly Pavel fell asleep. Though tired herself, she knew that if she napped now, she would throw off her sleep schedule and have trouble sleeping that night and thus would not be rested enough for her early morning shift the next day. If she stayed next to him for much longer, she would fall victim to the sandman and lose herself to pastel-imaged dreams and warm, Pavel-comfort.

With open eyes and semi-alert senses, she waited until his breathing reached that rhythmic exhalation that assured her that he was fast asleep. Cautiously, so that she would not wake him, she moved his arm from off of her shoulders and her leg from across his knees. Pressing against the mattress, she lifted herself to a sitting position next to his slumbered form.

Despite her knowledge that she could not stay and nap with Pavel, she could not bring herself to leave right away. She lingered for a few moments, watching his peaceful body relax against the mattress. Bringing a hesitant finger to his face, she traced the contours of his countenance, feeling the slope and dip of his cheekbones, the subtle curve of his forehead. Uhura always considered herself a romantic for details and gazed upon his beautiful face as her fingertip memorized the feel of his skin beneath hers.

His lips puckered slightly as she mapped out the expanse of smooth, white skin. She ran her finger down the length of his nose and smiled as she ran a thumb along the firm line of his jaw. He was much more delicate-looking than most of the crewmembers on the _Enterprise_ and his angelic beauty pulled at her heart, caused her to care for him even more.

She allowed her eyes to drift lower to his wiry neck and protruding clavicle. This was not the first time Uhura had seem him shirtless, but it was the first time she could look without feeling abashed by her concentrated attentions. Though she knew he was by no means weak, she was still somewhat surprised to see how fit he was. Through their years of friendship and their recent development of a relationship, she had felt the light tension through his shirts whenever they hugged. But without any fabric marring her vision, she could see his anatomy for what it was. His biceps rounded slightly and his chest was not so much chiseled as it was precisely molded into a blend of pale flesh and lean muscle.

Her purple fingertips grazed along the long plane of skin, feeling his trail of hair before briefly touching the well-worn fabric band of his sweatpants. Her hand rested over his bellybutton, her pinky finger lying atop the waistband. She leaned in to kiss the corner of his face just above his eye. The curls were nearly dry from his shower, but she could still smell the fresh, soapy scent of his shampoo. Her fingers padded a few stray hairs and she looked at how the light reflected almost golden off of his light brown curls.

Before she lost her willpower, she pulled herself away from his peaceful form and edged off of his bed. She felt her heart swell with care as he shifted slightly on the bed, unconsciously sensing the loss of her warmth.

Nyota blew him a kiss, turned out the lights, and slipped away through his door.

* * *

"Enter."

She did not wait for him to finish responding to her knock when she was already plugging in the entrance code to his room. The door slid open and she was immediately met with the strong, overwhelming scent of sandalwood incense and a sudden heated temperature. Her heels, so loud and sharp against the cold tiles of the hallway, were muted to a dull silence against the thin carpet

"Nyota," said an even voice from the corner of the small room. She turned to face the direction of the voice and saw Spock watching her with a single raised eyebrow.

"Hello, Spock," she greeted, standing awkwardly as he continued to sit in his meditative position on the small green pillow she had given him for Christmas while she was still his teacher's assistant at the academy. At the time, he had deemed it illogical, but given the current circumstances, he clearly appreciated it.

"Am I correct in assuming that the nature of your arrival is due to the conflict Chekov and I shared earlier this evening?" he asked without batting an eyelash.

"Yes," Uhura affirmed. She wondered if he had been expecting her presence since he left the gym.

"And I assume you feel it is of your concern due to your romantic attachment to the ensign and to your previous romantic attachment to myself?"

Spock rose from his spot on the floor using on the strong muscles of his long legs. In one swift movement, he was entirely vertical and standing only a few feet away from her.

"Yes," she repeated. She avoided his intense stare and fixated her eyes on the science insignia located on the Starfleet emblem on his uniform.

Spock did not respond to her answer and only continued to watch her. His eyes focused on her in a cool, calculating manner that she once loved. Feeling exposed under his analytical stare, she continued speaking in a firm tone that contradicted her nervous disposition.

"He shouldn't have argued with you."

"Indeed not," Spock agreed. Something flickered in his dark eyes and Uhura was gripped with the sensation that Spock believed she had entered his quarters for alternative reasons. Her mouth parted in slight surprise and she sat down on the edge of his perfectly made bed, patting the corner next to her. He followed her gesture and seated himself beside her. His pose was strict as ever, but she noted that he kept his knees away from her. She briefly remembered moments in his office before their relationship was official when the only indication that he cared for her was the slight pressure of his knee against hers when they graded papers together.

"Spock, you had your chance with me," Uhura said quietly, inwardly dispelling her memories from her mind.

Years of studying Vulcans and years of loving Spock had lead her to be acutely aware of the minute changes and subtle shifts in body language that indicated a Vulcan's true emotions under their supposedly stoic state. The corners of Spock's mouth lowered the smallest degree and his spine seemed to shrink under her sympathetic eyes. The hidden light in his eyes that she used to cherish seemed to extinguish at her words.

_There once was a time when I would have done anything to bring that light to the surface_, she thought to herself as her chest tightened.

When Spock finally spoke, it was with no emotion, no catch, and no indication that they were discussing anything more than simple protocol.

"By your tone, I conclude that there will be no second chance," he said as his face fell back into its smooth, carefully executed expression.

"Did you really expect me to wait for you?" she asked, the words burning at her throat, itching to be scattered in the air.

There was a pause and she gave him a stern look that warned him to be honest with her, even if it meant betraying his purely logical state of mind.

"No," he finally said, his voice lowering as his eyes shut for an instant before he looked back to her. "But I hoped you would."

The emotion was limited, but it was there. It was as present as anything physical around the room. The words rumbled through his body, coming deep from within his chest. Though he spoke quietly into the room, his words seemed to echo and rebound against the walls around him, striking Uhura from every angle.

"I am with Pavel now," she insisted. She tightly grasped her hands in her lap to restrain herself from holding his hand in sympathy. Uhura knew him to be unfamiliar with human emphatic tactics and she did not want to confuse him. "Your return will not affect my relationship with him."

"I understand," he said in a tone that reassured her that he was being completely honest with her. Then Spock hesitated for a fraction longer than he normally would have and Uhura continued to sit on his bed as she waited for him to continue.

"Before you leave," he started slowly as though he were quickly mapping out various equations in his impressive mind, "may I show you something?"

If Spock were any other man in the world, Uhura would not have trusted him. But she knew Spock better than nearly anyone else and knew without a doubt that Spock meant no harm to her.

"Yes," she agreed with a tender smile. She gently rearranged her body to face him more easily as he also faced her more directly.

His hands, so steady and sure, reached across the small space between them. His elegant fingers placed themselves strategically on the soft planes of her face. The thick warmth of the room increased as a hazy sensation overtook her body. She lost all sense of her body, of her surroundings. Dimly aware of his deep voice speaking a mantra so well known to her, she felt her eyes shut and block her vision of the man in front of her.

…_moonlight against brown skin, gleaming against rain slicked hair…pale hand spidered against the small of her back..."tell me what you need"…taste of strawberry ice cream lingering in her mouth as she pressed her lips to his in the sanctity of his room…fear for her safety collected in his chest as he beamed to _Narada_…remorse at her frustrations when he denied his emotions for her in the empty classroom..."I must go to New Vulcan"…her moist eyes as she nodded in understanding… _

_Flashes of memories ran too quickly for her to recognize anything but a flash of her hair or a glimpse of his fingers curled around her hand. Between each flickering image was a sudden horizon she recognized as New Vulcan._

"_Sometime during my stay on New Vulcan, I found myself to be terribly and irrevocably lost." His voice ghosted across their connection to fill her in a mist of memories._

…_hatred for the Vulcans…indignation at their prejudice thoughts…crippling sorrow for his mother's lost understanding…her annoyed expression as he contacted her on the monitor…apathetic stare of his father…an older self she could not fathom…her red uniform…Chapel braiding her hair…she smiled at Chekov across the room, unaware of any observers…Chekov stared at her during lunch, looking away only when catching Spock's eye…a Vulcan woman shaking her head no, the barest hint of disgust..."__It is truly remarkable, Spock, that you have achieved so much. Despite your disadvantage."_

"_I will always feel as though I walked in too slowly and walked out too late."_

…_his room, she lay on his bed, her hair fanned out beneath her, he leaned over her body, "I should not feel this way for you. It is a mistake," "It's okay to make mistakes. You can always put the puzzle back together," her eyes bright, sunlight streaming through the window, her love spilling out to him, his chest constrained as he tried to show her, show her his love, his care, his appreciation…_

"_Happy. You made me so happy. Finally, finally."_

Everything, attacking from every angle, hurt, love, comfort, need, aching and aching. An assault of too… much…

"Spock! Stop!" she yelled, cutting across the flashes of red and blue fabric entwining. Her vision lost its fuzzy edges as she forcefully opened her eyes and drank in the sudden, welcome image of Spock and his quarters and his white walls.

Uhura pulled away but could not find the strength in her shaking legs to lift herself from the bed. Instead, she gripped the edge of the bed as though she were about to fall off the edge of the world. Her eyes rapidly flashed around the room, hungrily savoring the fact that the room was real and the disjointed images had vanished from her sight. Breathing in and out too quickly, her heart pounded like it wanted to run away and seek refuge elsewhere.

"You are crying," he observed quietly. Spock reached out to her face to wipe away the tears, but the familiar movement made her recoil violently. His outstretched hand froze in midair like a ghost before he retracted his appendage.

"Emotional transference," she choked out, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. She swallowed countless times until her throat hurt from repetitive usage.

Warily, he placed a heavy, heated hand in the curve of her back as she bent over to face the floor. His presence felt distant and she knew he was holding back from any other visual or emotional transfer. But his radiating heat succeeded in calming her down just as it always had and the urge to vomit vanished as she slowly caught her breath.

Her eyes were still wet with unshed tears, but she felt much more composed when she finally faced Spock again. He looked expectantly at her and there was an undertone of genuine love that she could not deny.

"Can we mind meld again?" she asked, exhaling a shaky breath.

Spock's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his black fringe as he gave her a questioning look. She could practically see his thoughts as they raced through his mind and she knew he found her request to be illogical as the results would be just as emotional and overpowering.

"Is there something you wish to show me?" he questioned, moving forward, bringing his marble features closer to her vision.

"Yes," she affirmed, sounding much stronger than she felt. "How do I direct the meld?"

"I will give you the mental prowess necessary," he informed her.

Bracing herself against his touch, she felt more prepared for the connection that formed between them once more and all the sensations associated with it. She could sense an indefinable shift and suddenly felt very much in power of how to control her thoughts.

"_Just concentrate on what you want to show me," Spock's voice trailed away as Uhura took over._

…_excited Russian language heard down the hall before she even saw him…her lips along the secret patch of skin behind his rounded ear…"I von't let anyone hurt you again."…endless laughter while lying on the Academy campus…his lips brushing impossibly slow against her neck…metallic nails lost in masses of curls…a shared grin across the Bridge…soap, shampoo scent..."I care for you."…homemade brownies…thin arm around her shoulder…his smiling face shining in the audience as she sang her solo on the Starfleet stage…his concerned eyes…obscured vision as she cried into his shoulder…autumn breeze in faded daybreak as they walked across the grass…broken English introductions…stubble on his angled cheek tickling her neck as he nuzzled into her..._

"_I will _not_ be defined by who I am with. I am my own person. I make my own decisions, Spock."_

…_warmth…devotion…compassion…laughter…protection…love…_

"_I've dreamed so much for him and me. For us."_

…_Pavel closer and closer, soft lips, quiet laughter caught in his throat as he kissed her off-guard in a hallway…his kiss, his touch, his kiss…_

The last image lingered in her mind and she could feel Pavel's tenderness as though he were with her at that moment. She barely noticed as Spock's hands fell away, but the emotional impact was so much more peaceful and calming for her. When she opened her eyes, the Vulcan stared at her with a most peculiar expression on his face. For a brief moment, she looked onto his expression without any trace of his typical mask present. His emotion was raw, expressive, contorting until he slid back into relative blankness.

"You should go, Lieutenant Uhura," he said crisply, standing abruptly from the bed.

Uhura stood up much in a more languid fashion with more grace. For the first time, she willingly touched Spock. She placed her hands directly atop his shoulders and forced him to look at her.

"You can still call me Nyota," she told him with genuine care. "When I gave you permission to use my name, we were friends."

"You wish to retain a platonic relationship with me?" he asked with a touch of surprise laced in his words.

"Yes, Spock. Let's keep things as friends." She tapped her fingers softly against the blue fabric of his shirt and smiled ironically at him. "Funny how serious things get."

If he caught the irony, he did not show it. Instead, he drifted his hands upwards towards hers until he grasped her lightly around the wrists. He brought her wrists together under his chin and, still holding them, placed his chin against her knuckles in a rare moment of compassion.

She assumed the repercussions of the mind melds had affected him into acting with more humanity that she had seen since Vulcan's destruction and the loss of his mother.

"I did not mean to make you cry," he said calmly, though his eyes sought out hers for her acceptance.

"I forgive you," she promised, pulling her hands away from his hold. Uhura spared him a final smile before turning and heading towards the door.

It slid open and the coolness from the hallway felt as refreshing as a breeze. She rotated her head slightly to the side to quietly wish him farewell.

"Good night, Spock."

"Good bye, Nyota."

* * *

_Oh, I hope you had as much fun reading that as I had writing it. Uhura is fierce_ and _compassionate. I love her so much._

_This story was originally only supposed to be eleven chapters long and right now, I think there will be thirteen total (The next one is the last one!). So one last chapter and I hope to get it out soon. Now please don't get mad at me, but I am not sure when I will get the next chapter posted. It takes me about a day or two to write a chapter and I am leaving for vacation in Boston on Saturday with my family. I love you guys and I love writing, but I am not going to spend my entire vacation writing. I will write as much as I can tomorrow and I will (hopefully) write during the six hour car ride. If everything goes as planned, I will be able to update on Saturday or Sunday. But if that does not work out, please understand._

_(**Sidenote**: Is anyone on livejournal? If so, you should friend me. The link is on my penname profile. Also, if anyone is on livejournal, do you know about a Chekov_Uhura community? Yes? No? If not, I might create one.)_


	13. Among the Smiling Faces

_Hello beautiful, lovely, wonderful readers of mine! I have returned from vacation (which was awesome, by the way) and have completed this story! I'll miss writing it because it's been so much fun, but I'm just so happy it's completed! So here's the last chapter! (I think it's the longest one so far? Wow.)_

_**Notes**:_ Italics _indicate memory. This memory took place before the movie, but after the events of the prologue.  
-Gaila makes a brief appearance! I don't know about you guys, but in the movie, especially right as Kirk is leaving the dorm room, her lips look golden. Whether or not that is canon, I don't know. But I took some liberties. I will be writing a Gaila/Scotty full-length fic next (hopefully) so please let me know if you like my Gaila characterization or not.  
-Uhura mentions some things as Russian inventions. That list references things Chekov claimed in TOS._

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own Star Trek or The Little Mermaid. I own a shot glass that I won in Salem, MA. (I answered a question about the Witch Trials correctly. Yay for being a nerd!)_

* * *

_It was an early Saturday evening and so far, Uhura had not left her room for so much as even breakfast. There was too much studying to do. Normally, it did not take her so many hours to complete her homework, but she found herself to be too distracted by rampant thoughts racing through her mind._

_Her mind replayed some particularly entertaining and pleasant memories of Thursday's session with Spock when they had been in his office together grading papers. Her attentions wandered from the text-filled monitor of her PADD as she hummed old twenty-first century Disney songs under breath._

_Halfway through her hummed rendition of _Kiss the Girl_ from the classic, _The Little Mermaid_, the bathroom door opened behind her. Knowing Gaila was finally finished her shower, she did not turn around and merely continued to hum._

"_And you don't know why, but you're dying to try, you want to kiss the girl," she sang under her breath, one hand scribbling some notes down on a spare notebook about Voth culinary culture._

_Gaila giggled in her high voice and Uhura turned around to see her friend still standing in her hot pink towel. With shamrock skin and fiery hair, hot pink clashed horrendously with her roommate, but Gaila had long since proven herself to be the type to stand out. Curious as to why she giggled, Uhura gave her a questioning look._

"_You're so happy. And shiny," Gaila giggled with her usual humored glint in her light eyes. Smiling at Uhura's confused face, she skipped across the small room and, with all the grave of a ballerina, lowered her long frame onto the chair in front of her vanity._

"_Shiny?" Uhura asked in disbelief. "How can I possibly be shiny?"_

"_I don't know," Gaila shrugged, looking over her shoulder to smile veraciously, "but you are." With one green hand, she gestured aimlessly around the room. "You're like one of those baubles you put in our room last month."_

"_Ornaments. Christmas Ornaments," Uhura corrected, rolling her eyes._

"_Whatever," Gaila said blithely, brushing off the correction. "You're shiny," she reiterated in a know-it-all voice as she rummaged through her drawers for some fresh clothes._

"_If you say so," Uhura shrugged as she watched Gaila frown in thought as she stared at two different colored bras._

"_I do say so and I wanna know why you're one of those odaments," she told her roommate in an imperial, demanding tone. She held out the two bras to Uhura, one lacy purple and the other a spring yellow with pink polka-dots._

"Ornaments_," Uhura stressed, "and I'm not telling." She pointed to the polka-dotted bra and turned away while Gaila dropped the towel unceremoniously on the floor._

"_It's a guy, isn't it?" Gaila asked, teasingly._

_Uhura felt a sudden surge of butterflies in her stomach and her mind immediately pictured Spock in his black uniform._

"_You always think it's a guy," she answered in a slightly exasperated tone, avoiding the question directly. The sidestep towards questions and emotions had been something she learned from Spock._

"_That's because it usually is a guy that makes girls so shiny," Gaila said matter-of-factly. She waited until Uhura turned around again to face her underwear-clad friend. "Is it that skinny boy you speak in that weird language with?"_

_Uhura frowned disapprovingly at the Orion girl. "He's not skinny, he's just…" she paused, trying to think of a less offending word to describe Chekov. " Slender," she finally decided._

_Gaila just laughed some more as she started to smear some Sex on the Beach scented lotion onto her smooth legs. Uhura felt a shallow jealousy. Orion women, due to their sexuality with Orion men, had naturally hairless legs and never needed to shave._

"_And Russian is not a weird language. It's beautiful," she stated, her voice growing impassioned as she began to go own about the many wonderful qualities of a foreign language. She could feel her eyes gloss over as they so often did when she spoke of her first love._

_Gaila clicked her tongue in annoyance, interrupting Uhura's ode to languages._

"_I'll take your word for it," she promised with a flippant toss of her hand. Closing the lotion bottle, she dug her hand into a drawer to pull out a pair of tight blue jeans and a white, lacy top._

"_Ooh, how about McCoy?" Gaila perked up, excitement clear across her pretty features. "He's a little rough around the edges, but I bet you like a challenge."_

_Uhura shook her head emphatically. "No, it's not Doctor McCoy." She paused for a moment, trying to picture herself with the southern doctor and all she could think of was his permanent scowl. "Besides, he's too angry all of the time. We'd probably fight too much."_

"_But the make-up sex would be awesome," Gaila purred with a feral smile as she emerged out of the neck hole of her shirt. She ignored Uhura's stuck out tongue and continued with a more earnest tone of voice. "Besides, then you could double with me and Jimmie."_

"_Jimmie?" Uhura asked, biting back a giggle._

_Gaila flashed her a 100-watt smile and nodded as gleefully as a child. "Yep! With an i-e," she explained. "It bothers him in the most delicious way."_

_Her eyes drifted from Uhura's face to look unfocusedly at the wall and she drew a plump gold lip between her shining teeth._

"_Just stop there, Gaila," Uhura warned. She recognized that expression and did not want to hear about anything related to Kirk or delicious._

_Gaila shook her head of whatever dirty thoughts she was having and grabbed a pair golden ballet flats to slide her feet into._

"_So you're not going to tell me who it is?" she asked with a pout as she sat back down into her vanity chair._

"_I never said it was a guy. In fact, I never said I was shiny. That was what _you_ said," Uhura commented pointedly._

_Gaila continued to pout at her until Uhura sighed and stood from her seat. She walked over to the vanity and grabbed the wooden brush that lay on the ivory counter. Her exasperated expression slid into a more amused one as Gaila squealed delightedly. Gathering up all the damp, wildly curly hair, Uhura began to brush out the haphazard mess._

_Nearly cooing with pleasure, Gaila shut her eyes for a moment. Uhura knew that scalps were a highly sensitive area for Orions and Gaila adored having people comb or play with her hair. After a few moments of gentle brushing, Gaila opened her eyes and gathered some make up in front of her._

_She inspected each tube of eyeliner before choosing the purple one to carefully apply around her eyes, angling the tip out like an Egyptian queen. Without looking away from her reflection in the mirror, she addressed Uhura again._

"_Honey, I've never been wrong about this sort of thing." She examined how her left eye looked before nodding in satisfaction and began lining her right eye. A thoughtful expression crossed her face again. "Although, you're not like most girls. You're probably all shiny because of some new job offer."_

_Uhura smiled softly at the offhand compliment, tugged gently at her friend's hair. The light from the overhead fixture and the thin, winter sunlight coming in through the door gleamed off the red hair. For a moment, it looked like solid fire._

"_Did you visit your precious _Enterprise_ recently?" Gaila teased, wrinkling her nose at Uhura's reflection in the mirror._

"_Yes," Uhura teased, leaning her head down to place her cheek against Gaila's, smiling obligingly into the mirror. "And the shine from the hull reflected onto me. That must be what you're seeing."_

_The two roommates laughed for a moment and Gaila shoved at her friend playfully. Uhura placed the brush back onto the vanity and finger-combed Gaila's hair as the Orion put the finishing touches on her mascara._

"_I've never seen anyone want to be on a ship quite like you before," Gaila said sincerely once her giggles subsided. With a final swoop of clear lipgloss to her golden lips, she stood up from her seat. "Well, Jimmie and I are going to go study."_

"_Like hell you are," Uhura scoffed as she made her way back to her desk and abandoned PADD._

"_No, seriously," Gaila insisted. "We're going to study in public and everything so we don't get too tempted."_

_She stared at Uhura imploringly with a suspiciously innocent look in her eyes._

"_Gaila, I've heard about your conquests and his, too," Uhura commented, unfazed by her friend's expression. "You guys have no qualms about being in public."_

"_Well, it will at least delay us for a while," Gaila admitted with a mischievous smile. "Besides, we really do have to study for Archer's exam, it's supposed to be a real bitch."_

"_I don't know how you two can screw around with each other and still study like there's nothing else going on," Uhura commented. When she had first taken the plunge and admitted to Spock that she had feelings for him, he had denied that he felt the same and a mounting awkwardness had existed between them for a lengthy amount of time._

"_Neither of us wants something serious," Gaila explained, throwing a long necklace with beaded charms over her neck. "He's just fun, funny, and fun to be around. We're professional," she wrinkled her nose, "and can maintain a friendship without letting sex get in the way. It just relieves some stress or whatever. It's fun."_

_With another shrug, she hooked her arms through her pale pink pea-coat. As though having an epiphany, her mouth dropped open in realization and she hurried over to kneel in front of Uhura. She placed two neatly manicured hands on Uhura's still pajama-clad knees and forced her friend to look at her._

"_Are you worried that something might go wrong with the guy you're not telling me about? And that will ruin your friendship with him or whatever it is that you have going on?" she asked, concern deep in her blue eyes. The silver-painted nails dug gently into Uhura's knee, urging her to speak._

"_I don't know," Uhura finally admitted. "Maybe."_

_Since Gaila began speaking of Kirk, her usual insecurities towards her new relationship with Spock quickly halted her happier disposition. She wasn't about to tell Gaila what was going on because she and Spock had agreed to keep everything silent, but she still couldn't refrain from voicing an ambiguous concern._

"_Oh, honey, do you want me to stay here?" Gaila said comfortingly, taking on the persona of a mother hen. She tucked a stray piece of hair behind Uhura's ear. "We can talk if you want to. I won't pester you about the guy."_

"_Yes you will. Don't lie," Uhura called her out with a meaningful look at her friend, who broke out into another bright smile._

"_You know me too well," she chirped before falling back into her more somber tone. "But seriously, do you want me to stay?"_

"_No, go study with Kirk," Uhura insisted. "I'll be fine."_

_Gaila nodded with a smile and leaned down to kiss her friend on the cheek. Waving good bye, she headed out the door, wrapping her arms tightly around herself to keep warm. Uhura turned back to her work when the bubbly red-head popped back in again._

"_If it's the little Russian boy," she teased, trailing off with a waggle of her eyebrows._

"_Gaila, get out!" Uhura yelped, laughing as she threw her pen over in Gaila's direction. With a flash of green and red, her roommate vanished once more as her joyful laughter trailed behind her in her wake._

_Uhura shook her head, smiling to herself and looked back on the scribbled notes she had written about Voth. Reading a bit more about the omnivores' adaptation to their planet, she took a few more notations before thoughts of a pointy-eared man consumed her once more._

_Sighing, she discarded her PADD and rested her heavy head on her forearms crossed against the desktop. Black uniform, shining hair, pale skin, human eyes. The images swarmed and created a warm feeling in her stomach. But the warmth was soon contaminated with worry and fear about what might happen if someone were to find out or if their relationship were to end._

Am I making the right choice? _she wondered, not for the first time that week._

* * *

"Hello, Nyota!" Chekov said cheerfully as he strolled past her seat on the Bridge.

"Hello, Pavel," she responded, briefly looking up from her console to smile at him. He smiled in response and she turned back to her work and clicked away on her keypad.

He placed a hand under her chin and angled her face up to his to plant a kiss on her lips. Chekov could feel her smile under his touch, but she moved away quickly to face her monitor.

"Sorry, Pavel, but I just got some new translations that I need to work on and send back to Kirk," she explained sympathetically. Her fingers flew over the tiny numbered keys, the glow from the monitor illuminating her face in a pale blue, eerie manner.

He watched in interest at the numbered keys, pushed under by the slight pressure of her padded fingertips. It was similar to a machine she had used often during the Academy for some of her more advanced and demanding xenolingustic classes. At the time, she had tried to explain to him that each key represented a certain symbol, figure, or line in any given language. Languages could be selected by codes and then whatever she had written would be etched out. When the typed image appeared, it was not in any recognizable language or script, but a sloping graph of various levels of height and sharpness.

Nyota had explained that the graphs dictated the pronunciation and intonation of each word or phrase. Not every race was capable of pronouncing all the sounds found in other languages, so this was an attempt to translate words into the native language of whatever culture the Federation was contacting. The lines in the graph also varied in colors and that had a whole separate meaning to them as well. Though Nyota very patiently outlined the ins and outs of the machine, Chekov had been very confused by what everything meant. The calculations and compositions were unbelievably complicated and he still did not possess enough linguistic knowledge to understand of what exactly her work consisted.

Chekov continued to watch the quick and graceful movements of her pianist fingers as they danced over the keys. Her immaculate nails flashed warm orange that matched the amber earrings dangling from her ears.

As always, he found himself moved by her beauty and professionalism and placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. Nyota moved her head slightly to rest against his uniformed-forearm before straightening up again.

"Kirk vas telling me about some shore leave coming up and I thought," he started before she cut him off gently.

"Pasha," she started, soothing him with the use of his nickname. "I really need to concentrate on this. Can we talk later?"

Sparing a moment to face him, she looked up expectantly until he nodded and pulled his arms away. Chekov stood for a moment and watched as she returned to her work in silence, her expression unfazed as she glanced between the screen and her fingers. He moved to his seat, taking over for Ensign Barney, a junior officer who had manned his station while he was eating dinner.

Sulu sat beside him in his usual seat, waving hello. Though they kept the attentions on their work, they maintained an easy conversation about a new plant Sulu had been studying. Apparently, it was blooming season in the herbarium and Sulu spoke about his plants like a proud father.

_See, Nyota, it _is_ possible to talk and vork at the same time,_ Chekov thought to himself as he listened to Sulu animatedly describe the new blossoms on his favorite plant.

There was a whoosh and the two gold-clad men turned to see the Captain and Commander walk onto the bridge from the turbolift. Kirk saluted to them with a cocked-grin and made his way over to Uhura. Spock made no such indication that he had seen either man and followed the captain.

Sulu, who had heard the whole story about what happened in the gym from Chekov, raised his eyebrows at Spock's colder-than-usual indifference. Chekov shrugged in response. It had been two weeks since the argument and Spock had not reported Chekov's inappropriate behavior or anything of the sort. Considering all the different outcomes the scenario could have resulted in, Chekov figured being ignored by Spock unless absolutely necessary was a pretty good deal.

Nyota had explained that she had gone to see Spock and sorted things out with him after the incident in the gym. Since then, Chekov had been watching their few interactions very closely and determined that Spock had ceased all attempts to win back Nyota.

Still, even though his back was turned to the trio around the communications station, he focused entirely on listening to their conversation.

"Lieutenant Uhura, how are the translations coming along?" Kirk asked conversationally, though Chekov could hear the traces of excitement layered under his commanding tone. It was no secret that the captain was eagerly awaiting some inter-planetary entertainment.

"Excellent so far. As of yet, I have intercepted and translating nothing of utmost importance. I have sent all the completed translations to you for you to read when you have a chance," Nyota explained without pause. Chekov could still hear the light clicking of her keyboard and assumed that she did not look up at Kirk in the same way that she did not look at him.

"Approximately how much have you completed?" Spock questioned evenly. There was a pause in which the speed of her clicking changed as she did a technical survey of the work she had done thus far.

"According to this computer, I have finished about seventy-three percent of the original interceptions that I received at twenty-one hours and thirty-four minutes last night," she informed the commander.

"How long have you been working?" Kirk asked, his voice sounding closer. Chekov realized he had sat down in his captain's chair and was speaking to Nyota over his shoulder.

"I began my work after my shift ended at midnight. I organized the interceptions before falling asleep and then when I awoke this morning, I translated a few sets before arriving for duty at fourteen hundred hours this afternoon," she explained, detailing the amount of work she had put in so far. "And as it is," she paused to check the time, "about nineteen hundred hours now, I have been working for about eight hours."

Sulu and Chekov exchanged a look of incredulity and admiration for her dedication to her work.

"Uhura, you took a break to eat dinner, right?" Kirk asked, concern for his officer clearly apparent in his voice.

"Sulu brought me something around five. Thanks again, Su," she called across the Bridge before addressing the captain again. "But don't worry, I worked while I was eating."

"I do not think that was what the captain was referring to, Lieutenant," Spock responded.

There was a note of distress in his voice and Chekov could not stop himself from looking up inconspicuously to watch the first officer's reflection in main viewscreen. Both the captain and commander were watching Nyota as she brushed aside their concern.

"When your shift is over, I want you to eat a proper meal and take a break from translations. That's an order," Kirk commanded.

Nyota laughed and nodded.

"Just one request," she started, turning in her seat to face the captain directly. "May I extend my duty hours tonight for an extra two hours? I think I would be able to complete all the translations in that amount of time and the communications station is more advanced than my personal PADD. I'd rather get everything finished before I take a break."

"Obviously," he chuckled. "I will give you those two hours _if_ you promise to take a fifteen minute break right now. It'll give you a chance to get something to eat and to rest your eyes from the monitor."

"I would consider that a fair deal," she answered. Nyota clicked a few buttons to wrap up whatever it was she was doing before standing from her chair.

"Oh, Spock, you would be interested in some of the translations as well. A few were in a language that seems to be a strain of formal Vulcan that has not been seen in several centuries. Some of the conjugations are remiss of other cultures, perhaps Cardassian," Nyota told him excitedly.

"Indeed?" he questioned, looking at her screen with veiled interest. "May I?"

"Of course!" she responded, moving aside to allow him to sit down in her seat. "Here, let me get the files for you."

Chekov watched unashamedly from his seat, staring into the viewscreen reflection as Nyota leaned over in front of Spock to bring up the completed translation. He gripped the edge of his console, but was careful not to say anything. Unfortunately, his actions did not go amiss.

"Calm down. Nothing's happening," Sulu whispered comfortingly. Chekov spared a glance at his friend and knew him to be right.

A moment later, Nyota left to get some food and when she returned fifteen minutes later, Chekov was feeling much calmer. He glanced up to see her return to her chair where Spock still sat.

"What do you think?" she asked with great interest, looking at the monitor in front of them.

"Fascinating," he said quietly.

Chekov watched as Spock pointed to something on the screen and spoke in what Chekov assumed was Vulcan. Whether he was asking something or repeating something found on the screen, Chekov did not know. But for the next few minutes, a full Vulcan conversation was held between the two.

Carefully observing his commanding officer, Chekov waited for Spock to make some sort of indication of any lingering feelings towards Nyota. But the Vulcan was diligent in his manners, never moving his hands from where they lay in either his lap or on top of the keyboard and his eyes focused on the computer screen or Nyota's face at all times.

_Damn Wulcan, I can't even fault him at anything_, Chekov thought bitterly.

Thankfully the conversation was over quickly and Spock returned to his position at the Science station. The rest of Chekov's duty continued without further incident and when his shift ended, he walked past Nyota's chair.

"How's it coming along?"

"Oh, just great!" she said eagerly, still typing away. "I should be done soon." Nyota shifted herself in the chair before turning to face him with a dazzling smile.

"I'll probably be done in about half an hour. If you want, we can spend some time together then."

Chekov returned her smile with just as much brilliance, not caring that Sulu and Kirk were sniggering at the two "lovebirds."

"That vould be vonderful," he emoted. Tracing a knuckle across the smooth skin of her cheek, he walked off the Bridge.

It may have been childish, but he could not resist from giving Spock a gloating smile on his way out.

* * *

Chekov sat on the zebra-print spread Nyota kept over her bed. Her scent was heavy in the room, filling his senses, comforting him. The _Enterprise_ was not near any large stars and so the space outside of them was very dark, so Chekov programmed the lights to be just slightly less than full power to fill the room with illumination.

The room should have been comforting, but an irrepressible worry ate away at his stomach. He sat on the bed with tense shoulders, his leg jiggling in anticipation as he waited for Nyota to return.

He did not have long to wait for nearly forty-five minutes after he had left the Bridge, he heard her clicking the entrance code just outside her door.

When it opened and his presence was revealed to her, she gave him a questioning look.

"Oh, hi. I didn't know you'd be meeting me here," she began. She did not get to finish her statement for Chekov had already bounded across the room and silenced her with a pressing kiss.

Her body warm against his, he pulled her closer to him until it felt as though they would join as one. One hand gripped the crimson fabric of her uniform as his other hand fumbled beside them to shut the door.

Once the door was shut, he pulled the band holding back her hair, throwing it to the ground. His hand wound itself in her now loose hair, angling her head so that he could deepen the kiss further.

After her initial surprise, Nyota returned his kiss with as much fervor as he put into it. Her tongue was hot against his, as her hands slipped under his shirt and her finger nails scratched slightly at his back.

He groaned into her mouth and she responded by sucking his bottom lip and arching herself into his embrace. The sensation overwhelmed him and he tightened his grip. Something soared in his chest and he attempted to pour all of his love into her through the kiss. The entangled pair maneuvered themselves to her bed, falling heavily onto the mattress.

Chekov leaned her back against her pillow and began trails of kisses up and down her neck, pulling back the collar of her dress to expose some more of her skin. She turned her head to offer him more dark skin and her hands run up and down the smooth muscles of his back. One hand slipped from his back to touch his chin and he followed her lead back to her mouth.

Their lips met together once more in another fierce kiss. Chekov could feel the world shatter around him as she twirled her tongue around his. He kissed until colors popped under his eyelids as his lungs demanded air.

They finally parted, panting deeply. Chekov started to roll off of her, but her hands gripped him and limited his mobility. Instead, he placed his head on the pillow next to hers, his body still covering hers on the bed. Her hands continued their paths on his back, but were slower and less urgent. He could still feel trails of fire where her skin brushed against his and he moved his head to kiss her cheek sloppily.

She giggled breathlessly and pulled one hand from under his shirt to ruffle his curls.

"You act like you just got back from a war. Or from jail," she observed, whispering into his cheek as she returned his messy kiss.

Chekov managed a weak smile and since her grip had slacked, lifted himself off of her body. She raised herself up with him, concern tingeing her expression. He dangled his legs off of the side of the bed and she adjusted herself to sit behind him with her chest pressed against his back.

Resting her chin on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him, she waited until he started to talk.

"You're not bored of me, are you?" he finally asked her, twisting a little in her arms to get a full view of her face.

"What? Why would you say that?" she blinked bemusedly.

"On the Bridge, you didn't talk much," he said, avoiding her gaze to stare at the gray carpet beneath his booted feet. He felt her shift around him as she turned her body to straddle his hip from the side. She draped one leg over his lap to dangle off the side of the bed as well.

"Oh, silly," she scoffed gently, her hands brushing the curls off of his forehead. "I was working. You know how involved I get when I'm translating. I wouldn't have even eaten if Sulu hadn't practically forced the food down my throat."

He placed one hand on her knee, the other one played with the hem of her skirt.

"You spoke vith Spock," he told her with only a trace of scathing envy in his voice.

"Ah," she nodded, pulling her hands away from his face to wrap them loosely around his shoulders. "I figured that was what this was about. You're jealous," she taunted good-naturedly.

"No," he insisted emphatically, tightening his hold on her knee.

"Yes."

"Maybe."

"Yes."

"Okay, fine. Yes," he admitted, feeling himself flush with shame. "You spoke vith him in Wulcan."

He sounded like a child and he knew it. Unable to look her in the eye, he returned his gaze from her teasing face to stare at the floor again.

The slight pressure of her slim hands on his face forced him to look at her.

"And now I am speaking with you in Russian," she answered, slipping flawlessly into his native language.

"You're teasing me," he chided in English.

"Not in the slightest," she shook her head, still speaking in perfect Russian. "I love the Russian language. All good things come from Russia, after all," she joked, pulling his face down to hers to place a quick kiss to his lips. "Scotch, Cinderella, Sherman's Planet."

Nyota pulled him tighter against him for a deeper kiss, licking his lips for a moment before pulling away and switching back into English. "You."

"So I have nothing to vorry about?" he questioned, peering deep in her buttery brown eyes.

"No," she emphasized with a smile, kissing the corner of his mouth. When she pulled away, she had a sterner look on her face and her hands tightened a bit on his face. "You need to stop being jealous though. I don't want to feel guilty about talking to Spock."

"Alright," he promised, taking her hands into his. He twisted her wrists so that her palms were exposed towards the ceiling and placed a kiss in the center of each.

She moved her hands within his until her fingertips laid gently against the thin skin of his wrists. As she brushed his sensitive skin, he squirmed pleasurably as she continued to tickle him lightly.

"It tickles," he explained as the smile on his face grew wide.

"I know," she answered before kissing him again. The kiss was innocent, their lips barely moving against each other in a slow rhythm.

"Just so you know," she whispered, moving away just enough to speak, "I pick you."

"Me?" he asked, moving his lips to place quick, tender kisses on her cheeks and forehead.

"You, you, you," she repeated, accenting each word with a kiss to his lips and chin as she threaded her fingers into his brown hair. "Is that what you wanted to hear, you selfish man?"

He could hear her smile in her teasing words and could feel the curve of her lips as she spoke against the rough skin of his cheek.

"That is exactly vhat I vanted to hear."

With a final kiss to her forehead, he held her tight to his chest again and they sat for a moment, listening to each other's heartbeats. Chekov lowered one hand to her knee, rubbing his palm up and down the smooth skin he found there. He traced the outline of her hem, resting his thumb just under the fabric as he stroked small circles into her skin.

"If I told you I love you, vould that spoil the moment?"

"Not at all."

Shifting his hands to her hips, he dug his fingers gently into the soft skin of her abdomen just above her hipbones, rotating against the soft fabric. His lips traced along the contours of her beautiful face, ghosting along her defined cheekbones, trailing along the feathery, fine hairs of her arched eyebrows. A kiss was placed on each eyelid before he moved his mouth to the rounded shell of her ear.

"I hawve loved you for years."

Nyota gave a barely audible gasp that breezed against his neck. She pulled away from him to slide her face down to capture his lips before resting her forehead against his.

"And I plan on loving you for years to come," she promised simply and sincerely.

The love in his heart was mirrored in her eyes as he grinned teasingly.

"Vell, if you insist."

They shared a kiss and a smile and everything fell into place.

* * *

_It's done! *dances* I hope you all have enjoyed this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. At 120 pages on Microsoft Word, it's the longest story I have written so far. I'm very proud of what I have written and would appreciate it if you wrote a review._

_For those of you who have read, reviewed, alerted, favorited, and lurked, thank you all so much. Go hug yourselves and buy yourselves a chocolate bar. No one deserves it more than you._

_Lastly, I would like to announce that I have created a Chekov/Uhura community on livejournal. If you are reading this message, that means you just read 13 chapters of C/U goodness and clearly you are a fan of this couple. So go join the group! My lj link is on my ffdotnet homepage. If you have any further questions, please pm me. We need more members!_

_Once again, thanks for reading! Please review!_


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